


All Those Books That We Both Drowned

by Queer_and_trashy



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ADHD! Jaskier, Autistic! Geralt, College Professors AU, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, History Professor! Geralt, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Modern AU, Modern Era, Music Professor! Jaskier, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Trans Male Character, Trans! Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queer_and_trashy/pseuds/Queer_and_trashy
Summary: Pankratz was the exact breed of professor that grated Geralt to the bone. All new-age learning styles that throw away any sort of examinations and insisting on his students calling him Jaskier. The bastard had a five-star rating on Rate My Professor, while Geralt was consistently stuck at 3 with students complaining his tests were difficult or lectures were boring. Lecture style teaching was all he knew; he wasn’t about to change that now based on the opinions of some eighteen-year-olds.Geralt- a grumpy, workaholic, history professor- meets the flamboyant music professor Dr. Pankratz and immediately develops a rivalry. When they are recruited to work on a project together said rivalry and the stewing sexual tension between them make things... complicated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 169
Kudos: 506
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Witcher fic and also my first lengthy chaptered project so I hope you all enjoy! Updates should come quite quickly as it is basically fully written just in the need of some editing. 
> 
> While I am involved in academia I am neither a history nor music professor and don't study ancient musical instruments so excuse any inaccuracies that might arise. Also, I am not autistic- although I do have an autistic beta- so apologies if Geralt's characterization at any time appears inaccurate or disingenuous. I am, however, trans and have ADHD Jaskier totally isn't me projecting what are you talking about?
> 
> Enjoy :D

Geralt strolled through the museum, subtly pulling at his collar. He was glad he decided to forgo the tie he had planned to pair with his plain black tux. It would have only heightened the discomfort Geralt felt in such formal attire. Being a professor, he was accustomed to staying relatively well dressed, donning a button-down most mornings. But the added jacket and inability to roll up his sleeves or undo another button made him claustrophobic. Or maybe the tightness in his throat was from the number of people milling around him.

With several years of experience coming to these things, one would expect he’d be accustomed to the atmosphere. After all, the history museum events weren’t really uproarious gatherings. Usually, they were a muted environment of cocktails and chatter of semi-wealthy individuals pretending they were wealthier and more intelligent than they really are. Highbrow socialites weren’t exactly Geralt’s scene. He preferred a quiet office with his books, or maybe the occasional beer at a pub with Yennefer and her girlfriend.

Geralt took a sip of the champagne he was holding and grimaced, remembering he still didn’t like champagne. He examined each artifact and plaque in the room carefully despite being able to describe each of them with his eyes closed. He _ had _ written half of them and edited the rest. That was what tonight was for, to celebrate the medieval wing finally opening after months of hard work. Geralt had been brought in as a consultant from his university to help the museum with the finer details of the time period given his decade of experience in everything from swords to textiles. 

With the noise in the room sounding increasingly more like gossip than intellectual discussion, Geralt stayed zoned into the assorted weapons and pottery as he wandered in a circle around the room. Someone needed to appreciate the true purpose of this night. Besides, maybe this way he’ll escape being dragged into meaningless conversations about strangers' boring lives and opinions.

“Oh, Dr. Rivia!”

_ Well, that was a pipe dream _ , Geralt thought. A short old man made his way over to Geralt, dressed in his own black tux although  _ he _ had managed to include a bowtie in his ensemble. The museum director was a kind man, one of the few people that didn’t get on Geralt’s nerves, but their interactions always stayed paraprofessional to the point even Geralt got bored. 

“How are you enjoying the exhibit? Quite beautiful out of the archives and into the light, isn’t it?” the director said with a big smile.

Geralt made a noise of agreement, scanning the room as if admiring it. He was quite practiced in the art of avoiding conversation without coming off as insulting. His social disengagement ended, however, when he noticed something odd.

“What’s this?” he asked, stepping towards a display in the center of the room. Inside the glass box was an early 16th-century lute Geralt had never seen before.

“Ah yes, one of the best pieces! We only got this in a couple of weeks ago. Really had to haggle for it but I wanted something that popped amongst the old swords and bowls.” 

Geralt glared down at the lute, admiring the fine condition it was in. It even had been restrung authentically, a detail far too many displays have fucked up. He looked down at the description and the furrow in his brow deepened.

“Who did you consult on this?” Geralt asked, coming out controlled but biting. The sharpness of his tone bounced off the happy-go-lucky director like it was nothing.

“It’s a new professor actually, from Oxenfurt as well. He’s in music history with a concentration on medieval instruments. I figured he was the perfect man for the job, and he took to it like a fish to water. Even corrected some flaws with the way the strings had been tuned, a really talented man. And quite personable too, all the staff loved him.”

Geralt huffed, still not taking his eyes off the cursed lute. Of course, this  _ new _ professor just waltzed into his museum charming everyone, so they didn’t even question his conclusions on the artifact. “His description is wrong,” Geralt said.

“Well that’s not my area, you better take it up with him and get back to me. I know you’re a stickler for the details, Geralt, but I’m sure Dr. Pankratz will have an explanation. He should be around here somewhere actually; he accepted the invitation very enthusiastically. Yes, that’s him right over there.” The director pointed to a young man in a ridiculous dark red suit with a black shirt underneath. The supposed doctor couldn’t be older than 26, with sweeping brown hair and a baby face that apparently was charming. This fact was evidenced by the four or five people listening to him tell some story that involved sweeping hand gestures far too vibrant for such a dull party.

Geralt watched him and fumed. What was a man barely out of grad school doing working on Geralt’s projects, sullying the good name of his exhibit with false assumptions? He bet the music professor couldn’t even name a single bard of the 14th century, let alone the king he served. Geralt could name forty off the top of his head!

“Well, I’ll leave you to that,” the museum director said, patting Geralt on the arm before walking off to mingle with the rest of his guests. 

_ I’ll just go over and ask him about it, _ Geralt thought.  _ Surely that’s not rude, we’re colleagues after all. _ If someone came up to him and started questioning his work, he’d probably curse them out but that was irrelevant. He’d be calm about it, it’d be fine.

He walked towards Dr. Pankratz just as the group around him burst into laughter. It seemed genuine as well, shockingly not the polite laughs of a group of people forced to socialize. Geralt paused in front of them, already starting to regret his decision.

“Excuse me, are you Dr. Pankratz?” he asked, forcing himself to look the man in the eyes for a moment. This was a mistake as Geralt-- normally skeptical of eye contact-- was blown away by the blue of the man’s eyes.

The man smiled despite the interruption, inviting a newcomer in the conversation. “Yes, and who’s asking?” he said with a smirk.

Geralt panicked. “Your description is wrong.”

Dr. Pankratz blinked several times and his eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“For the lute. A part of it is wrong. I’m surprised no one else was consulted on it.” The words came out harsher than Geralt had intended but he was never great at hiding his irritation. If he had been involved from the beginning this amateur never would have been able to get away with such a lazy job.

The music professor’s face once so inviting was now cold. Clearly, Geralt had insulted him. “Care to enlighten me on which part exactly I got wrong? Oh, and who you might be, with your holier than thou attitude?”

“Dr. Rivia. I  _ properly _ consulted on the rest of the artifacts in this exhibit. The lute didn’t belong to a bard, it is too intricate and in too fine condition. It was likely a display instrument for a king or prince. Had they given me time with it I could have traced its lineage.”

Dr. Pankratz’s smile returned but this time it was cruel. “How lovely, my fellow colleague. They warned me you weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy.”

That stung but Geralt didn’t let it show on his face. It still frustrated him; he never seemed to make good impressions even among the places he thrived like the museum. It didn’t surprise him anymore. Suddenly Geralt was being dragged by this  _ child _ of a professor by the arm towards the display in question. Geralt shook his arm free, annoyed at the touch he hadn’t been expecting. 

“Look here,” Pankratz said pointing to the neck of the lute. “You see the subtle indentations on several of the frets? Evidence of a well-used instrument certainly not just for ‘display’ as you so boldly suggested. Or here on the headstock where there once was a strap attached? The finish is worn more there than anywhere else after being strapped around a  _ bard _ while they played.” The man was heated, loud and expressive enough to gather the attention of several other guests.

Geralt heard his points and noticed the new details his initial glance had missed. But ever stubborn and defensive he certainly wasn’t going to give in now. “You still failed to mention the intricacies indicating it was an instrument created for royal gatherings. Not to mention you didn’t localize it to any region or kingdom.”

“I had a week!” Dr. Pankratz exclaimed.

“Hmph,” Geralt replied, still firm in his belief that the young man in front of him wasn’t competent enough to perform such key analysis on artifacts. Just because he can tell when somethings been played doesn’t mean he has the historical knowledge to back it up. Time was no excuse, Geralt had stayed in the archive rooms at all hours finishing his research.

“Well, Dr. Rivia, it has been  _ wonderful _ to meet you. I’ll be sure to question you about your specialty next time we meet to return the pleasant experience. Hopefully, it won’t be any time soon.” Dr. Pankratz, deeming he had made enough of a scene by now turned and stalked off leaving Geralt in the middle of the room with several eyes on him.

Somehow, this night had gone worse than he had expected. Although in some ways he preferred the adrenaline of the fight lingering in his body to the stale boredom of earlier. He was exhausted by the whole affair though, and certainly didn’t want to hear the thoughts of these “elites” on his little scuffle. He decided it was best to head out early.  _ It’s not as if anyone would miss my titillating conversation, _ Geralt thought to himself as he walked down the stairs of the museum entrance into the night.

******

Geralt was fuming at his desk during his mandatory office hours no one ever attended, once again looking at a certain professor profile on the Oxenfurt School of Music website. It had been a week since the exhibit opened and he was stuck on this fraud of a man who had illuded the skepticism of their colleagues. Dr. Julian Pankratz wasn’t even strictly a music history professor! He taught one music history class that centered around learning how to play medieval instruments, rather than textual discussion. The rest of his teaching was in guitar or theory classes. The fact that the museum preferred  _ him _ over Geralt, who studied solely medieval items, was ridiculous.

Not to mention Pankratz was the exact breed of professor that grated Geralt to the bone. All new-age learning styles that throw away any sort of examinations and insisting on his students calling him  _ Jaskier _ . The bastard had a five-star rating on Rate My Professor, while Geralt was consistently stuck at 3 with students complaining his tests were difficult or lectures were boring. Lecture style teaching was all he knew; he wasn’t about to change that now based on the opinions of some eighteen-year-olds. At least he’d always have his five out of five hotness score.

Geralt glared at the profile photo on the music school’s website. It was a ridiculous black and white headshot of the man smiling coyly as if auditioning for a risqué theatre production rather than a serious professional photo. Geralt even put on a tie for his.

“Knock knock,” said Yennefer from his doorway, startling him from his hateful contemplation. “Still filling your hours gazing lustfully at that twink you’re so mad at?”

“He’s not a twink,” Geralt replied too quickly.

“Oh really? And why is that?”

Geralt knew he was trapped. His response about the visible chest hair in this photo clearly making Jaskier more of an otter was far too revealing. Yennefer knew him too well. That was what he got for only really having one close friend who was also his ex-girlfriend. 

Yennefer laughed at his frustrated face. She sat in the chair across from his desk reserved for the students that never came, crossing her legs and lounging as if the chair wasn’t an uncomfortable square of wood. “You really need to hate-fuck him and just move on already. This obsession of yours is starting to get concerning.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to  _ hate-fuck _ a colleague. It’s not about attraction. I’m just concerned about historical accuracy in the exhibit with my name on it. It’s about professional integrity.”

“Since when are you a martyr of professionalism? Come on, we both know you love a good shag and I can count on one hand the number of people you’ve slept with since we broke up. I’m surprised it’s taken this long for you to get obsessed with someone again, you’ve been so pent up.”

Yen had a point, as always. He had put relationships of all kinds on the back burner since their breakup. Not due to any regrets, as they both agreed being together only exacerbated their “tendencies towards emotional constipation” as Yennefer described it. They were better as friends. Geralt loved her dearly, depending on her just as she leaned on him. But he  _ had _ spent the last two years or so with his head buried in more books than thighs, to be crude.

Not that he wanted to fuck  _ Jaskier, _ of all people. The man may be attractive from some angles, but Geralt had standards. The music professor already had people eating out of his hand without effort, Geralt didn’t need to add to his ridiculous ego.

“My sex life is entirely irrelevant to my deep contempt for this man,” Geralt said.

“What did he do now?” Yennefer smiled. Geralt was growing weary of her ability to read him like a book.

With an angry sigh, Geralt clicked the other tab and turned the laptop towards Yennefer. She leaned forward in her chair to read the screen which displayed the most obnoxious and patronizing email Geralt had ever received. Dr. Pankratz had had the audacity to send him a fucking page-long  _ list _ of questions and supposed errors on every single artifact Geralt had authenticated for the museum. The insult to Geralt’s validity in his profession was sandwiched between mocking pleasantries with a greeting stating how wonderful it had been to meet Geralt to concluding with an apology for his brevity as he “only had a week after all”. The message reeked of pride and mockery topped off with a farewell of “best wishes, Jaskier”. Every time Geralt even glanced at it it made his skin crawl.

“I like this one, he’s got a spine,” Yennefer said. She lounged back again, entirely unperturbed at the insult directed at her best friend. 

“He’s an absolute prick,” Geralt snapped. 

Yen just laughed at him and stood. She walked over to where he sat with his arms crossed and face fixed in a glare. Placing a hand on his shoulder she dropped a kiss onto his creased forehead.

“I’ll leave you to sort this one out yourself." She strolled towards the door, taking her leave.

“I’m still not going to fuck him,” Geralt said.

“Sure, you’re not” she singsonged while walking down the hallway towards her own office, leaving Geralt alone. Alone with this ridiculous email that made his blood boil. He clicked back to his previous tab to try and find Jaskier Pankratz’s office location.

********

The only time Geralt had been to any of the music buildings was to see his niece Ciri’s choir concert in the fall. There wasn’t really any reason for professors to fraternize outside of their fields and Geralt had never had much interest in music. He found it grating, especially live. Yennefer once dragged him to a karaoke bar and laughed the whole hour they lasted there at Geralt’s permanent wince.

Despite his preferences, he entered the main music building, hearing the sound of a lone trombone and a chorus rehearsing from different rooms along the hall. Navigating by the plaques by each door he journeyed up the stairs to place himself outside of Dr. Pankratz’s office right as his colleague’s office hours were intended to start.

The door to the room was left open revealing a barely organized chaos of books, sheet music, and a scattering of instruments. Four different guitars hung up on the wall, with a fifth placed in the chair behind a desk stacked with papers. The other half of the room was taken up by an upright piano and a bookshelf filled with not only books but also a lute and a small harp on display. Geralt’s own office towered high with books, in stacks that no longer fit on his bursting shelves but at least he kept his desk clear.

He also noticed the distinct lack of the man he was looking for. Geralt huffed at the unprofessionalism. Yet another thing to add to the list of reasons to dislike the professor. Standing in the doorway Geralt debated whether to step into the office in wait or scrap this whole confrontation altogether. Before he could make a decision, he was interrupted by a voice behind him.

“I was wondering how you’d respond,” Dr. Pankratz said as he strolled down the hall towards Geralt. He was dressed in a shiny purple shirt that appeared to be silk and grey trousers that fitted close to his thighs. His top three buttons were undone and sleeves rolled up as if heading to a club not teaching a class, it was ridiculous. Geralt refused to look down at his own black button-down to remember how many buttons he had left undone.

Before Geralt could say a word Jaskier walked past him into his office, picking up the guitar from his chair and hanging it back up on its place on the wall. “Well, come in,” he said as if this meeting wasn’t a surprise visit.

Geralt stepped a few feet into the office and paused refusing to sit even as Jaskier lounged in his office chair, rolling back and crossing his legs. “Dr. Pankratz-”

“Please call me Jaskier, everyone does,” Jaskier interrupted immediately.

Geralt already knew that. He prickled with annoyance. “ _ Jaskier _ . I received your email and found it highly unprofessional. Almost all of your ‘suggestions’ to improve my work were blatantly false, a waste of my time and resources just to foster your ego.” 

“ _ Almost _ all?” Jaskier said with a smirk. Of course, Geralt had to investigate the claims late into the night last night, never one to accept less than perfect work. The list of suggestions was a wild goose chase except for  _ maybe _ two that had some grounding. But those were artifacts he didn’t even examine up close, that wasn’t his fault.

“Lucky insights don’t give you the right to be insulting,” Geralt replied.

“Of course, only false ones do. My mistake.” Jaskier tossed his hands about with the gesturing of an elitist woman entrenched in socialite decorum.

“Good to know you admit to imperfections on occasion.” Geralt met this man’s banter with his own sharpness, letting the harsh words that usually only danced inside his head slip out his mouth.

“Well they happen so rarely, it’s always good to make note of anomalies. That’s an important thing in science right?" He tapped his chin as if genuinely pondering it. "Not that it matters, that’s all just drivel to me.”

“So anything outside of your scope is meaningless? You received one doctorate and now all knowledge revolves around you, how typical.” Jaskier reeked of the pretentious academia that constantly shit on others' work simply to be contrary. Geralt had watched for years now as these elitists tore down the credibility of Yennefer and other undeserving victims simply for their own superiority complexes.

“One doctorate, but a great many talents in a  _ variety  _ of fields.” Everything the man said was coy and flirtatious; Geralt was boiling at the unprofessionalism. “Very much including music history which, as we’ve established, I’ve bested you in. Now, how many doctorates do you have again? Given you’re the center of the universe it must be quite a few.”

Geralt was tired of this man’s sass and flippancy when addressing a respected colleague. “Your pride is going to bite you in the ass someday soon. I’m amazed you got this far in a career you clearly see as trivial. A front of charm and charisma isn’t going to fool everyone.” 

Suddenly the calm goading demeanor changed in Jaskier. His hands wrapped tight around the handles of his desk chair as he pushed himself to stand and his jaw hardened. “My pride? I’ll have you know I have gotten where I am through my own hard work and respect, never needing to tear other people’s work down just because I’m insecure about my position.” He stepped around the desk, diminishing the distance between them to a couple of feet.

“I simply wanted to correct your error.” Geralt could feel his own stubbornness pulling him deeper into a pointless argument but couldn’t stop himself.

Jaskier looked to the ceiling and threw up his hand. “Correct  _ my _ error. You pulled me away at a social event in front of tens of people to make your first introduction by insisting you know more about an instrument I studied for a week after a quick glance. And  _ I’m  _ the unprofessional one?” Jaskier was very expressive in his anger. His face was growing red and his arms never seemed to stop moving, flapping in the air and resting on his hips only for seconds at a time.

“I’ve studied medieval history probably a decade longer than you.” Geralt couldn’t remember why he was arguing but the taste of their shared anger on his tongue was too addictive to stop.

“It’s not a bloody competition,” Jaskier exclaimed. “Shall I get a ruler and we can do a dick measuring contest as well?”

“Hmph,” Geralt replied, a hint of a smile twitching his lips. 

Jaskier buried his face in his hands shaking his head. “You’re lucky you’re fucking attractive enough to mask your horrendous attitude,” he muttered, muffled by his hand.

Heat sparked through Geralt and he made a decision. Yennefer didn’t have to know about this. Geralt reached out to cup Jaskier’s jaw, leaving room for the other man to pull away. Jaskier looked up into his eyes, expression a little wild. Geralt let his face relax into a smirk, glancing down at Jaskier’s lips before locking back onto his blue eyes. 

He only needed to wait a few seconds before Jaskier lunged forward, connecting their lips in a violent kiss. His hands gripped onto the muscles of Geralt’s back. Politeness was left at the door, the kiss quickly turning messy and open-mouthed. Their teeth tapped and Geralt stumbled back at the unexpected strength of the man in his arms that was only half his bulk. 

Just as fast as it began Jaskier pulled back leaving Geralt dizzy and breathing heavy. “I’m still mad at you,” he said pointing a finger in Geralt’s face accusingly. 

“Okay,” Geralt said, stroking a thumb along Jaskier’s jaw where his hand still rested. 

Jaskier grunted in frustration before leaning in again to resume their passionate kissing. The interaction remained as much of an argument as the conversation before, filled with nips and pushing. Geralt wound his fingers into Jaskier’s brown hair and felt the scratch of Jaskier’s nails on his back through his shirt. They stumbled together, accidentally knocking into the desk. A large textbook that had been teetering on the edge amidst the clutter fell to the floor with a ruckus that startled the two men apart.

Both were panting as they stared at each other, no longer touching at all yet still feeling inexplicably connected. Geralt had never done something this stupid. He barely knew this man and half of what he knew just annoyed him. The fucking door was open, it was completely inappropriate. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so excited, sparks buzzing in his blood. 

Jaskier broke their silent eye contact with a laugh. It was the best noise Geralt had heard from the man so far, but he’d love the chance to find some more he liked. “Go close the door,” Jaskier said, his eyes dark.

Geralt obeyed without question, closing the door to the thankfully empty hall. Walking back to Jaskier he saw the professor scanning down his body with his hungry gaze. Geralt was aware he was considered quite fit, but the clear attraction in Jaskier’s gaze sent a thrill through him. In turn, he took in his partner, allowing his eyes to track the exposed collarbones leading to a scattering of dark chest hair peeking out from the loud shirt. Jaskier certainly was his type, with a fascinating mix of softness and strength, flamboyancy and ruggedness. 

“So,” Geralt said when the silence became too much for him. He longed to have the musician’s soft lips on his again.

Jaskier stepped forward to leave just a breath between them, yet not touching him. He examined Geralt for a moment as if evaluating him and then they were kissing again, Geralt so awash in the sensation it made him dizzy. The feeling only heightened with the added heat of Jaskier rolling his hips against him. Geralt could feel himself harden in his jeans from the combined friction and the soft moans Jaskier was letting echo within their mouths.

Geralt guided them back so Jaskier was pressed against the one mostly bare wall of the room. The poster of some inspirational music puns went crooked with the shift of Jaskier’s head but they both ignored it. Geralt leaned down to trace kisses along Jaskier’s jaw before nipping at his neck, causing him to whimper. This only spurred Geralt on, now determined to leave marks all along Jaksier’s neck and collar if it meant hearing more sounds like that.

He couldn’t help but thrust forward against where their hips were aligned, spurring Jaskier to move his hands from around Geralt’s torso to the buttons of his shirt. He fumbled with them, distracted by the continued ministrations on his neck. Finally, he managed to get the last one undone and Geralt felt fingers calloused by strings tracing along the muscles of his chest.

“You fucking bastard,” Jaskier said with a laugh. “Knew I hated you still. How do you get a body like this as a history professor?”

_ Exercising is good for sexual frustration _ , Geralt thought. “Gym,” he replied, still buried in Jaskier’s neck. 

“Fuck off,” Jaskier replied, grabbing the back of Geralt’s head to pull him back into a kiss. With his hand already there he fumbled to pull out the elastic that had been holding Geralt’s long hair in a bun. Geralt winced at the tugging but forgave it immediately when Jaskier buried his hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way that made Geralt want to purr like a kitten.

Geralt, remembering his own hands then, reached down to start on Jaskier’s shirt. Suddenly the musician froze mid-kiss and pulled away. Geralt paused his hands, looking at Jaskier with confusion. 

“Oh, right,” Jaskier said with an expression like he just remembered he left the stove on. “Uh, I’m trans.”

“Okay,” Geralt said. He guessed that made sense why Jaskier was on the diversity council for the university. He had assumed it was for some form of queerness. In truth, he had been annoyed that Jaskier had gotten a position so early in his career when Geralt was openly bi and never even got asked to a meeting. He wasn’t a fan of discussion-based meetings, so he would have rejected them anyway, but still would have been nice to be  _ asked _ . “Can I suck you off?” he asked crudely.

Jaskier smiled wide and his eyes flashed with lust. “Fuck yes,” he said breathlessly. He unbuttoned his own shirt all the way and slid it off his shoulders, making Geralt’s heart stutter. The man was gorgeous, with dark hair scattering his chest that lay over the two silvering scars and led down to a soft stomach. Geralt placed a hand on his hip and leaned in for a softer kiss with less competitive fuel.

Soon he was dropping to his knees, anxious to get his mouth on Jaskier. It had been a while since Geralt had had sex of any kind and he felt the ache to pleasure someone more than he had in years. Undoing his belt, Geralt pulled down Jaskier’s trousers and boxers in one go, noticing an uptick in the music professor’s breathing. Taking a deep breath Geralt could smell the musk of sweat and arousal.

He looked up to Jaskier for confirmation, receiving a nod. Anxious to begin, he dove forward to trace around Jaskier’s dick with his tongue. He felt a shudder run through Jaskier’s body and put his hands on his hips to stabilize him against the wall. It didn’t take long to realize Jaskier was sensitive, shaking and moaning too loud for where they were as Geralt sucked and licked. Geralt couldn’t be bothered to care about noise though as he continued to move faster and apply more pressure to please this man that annoyed him so much. At the moment he couldn’t really remember any reason to dislike him as he began thrusting into Geralt’s mouth, moaning through the hand he had bitten to muffle the noise.

Looking up, he made eye contact with Jaskier. The blue eyes were pleading and overwhelmed, turned soft with pleasure. And just because Geralt was a bit of a dick sometimes he pulled away for a second causing Jaskier to release a pitiful whimper. He wanted that spark again, of rage overshadowed by lust. “Which of us is unprofessional again?” Geralt said.

“Oh, you fucking bitch,” was Jaskier’s eloquent response. He grabbed Geralt by the hair and pulled him back in, effectively riding his face. Not that Geralt was complaining, happy to let his mouth be used as Jaskier fell apart above him. After only a few minutes more of whining moans from Jaskier and rumbling grunts from Geralt, Jaskier shook with his orgasm, getting louder as he pulled Geralt’s mouth hard against him. 

Slowly Jaskier came down from his high, lessening his grip in Geralt’s hair and letting his knees buckle into Geralt’s grasp. After a few more panting breaths he seemed to regain his ability to stand on his own. Geralt released him, noticing red marks dotting the hips his hands had wrapped around. His cock twitched in his jeans where he was still obscenely hard. He let one hand fall to his bulge, rubbing himself through the coarse fabric and moaning.

“Get your ass up here and let me do that,” Jaskier said, still mostly out of breath and leaning heavily on the wall. Geralt stood quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He crashed into a kiss, feeling heavy with arousal. Quickly his pants were unzipped, and underwear pushed down just enough to reveal his hard cock. Jaskier wrapped his hand around it and moved rapidly up and down the shaft, fulfilling Geralt’s desire to get off hard and fast. 

Gasping he pulled away from the kiss to find air. He buried his face into Jaskier’s neck, leaning his body weight fully on the arm pressed against the wall to hold him up. Choked off grunts that were much quieter than Jaskier’s noises escaped him as pleasure washed over him. Musician’s hands had their uses, he guessed. He mouthed wetly at the skin in front of him, but was too overwhelmed to focus on leaving any more marks. 

It wasn’t long before he felt the build deep in his stomach, only able to grunt a soft “close” before he was coming. White come coated Jaskier’s hand with a few drops falling to the floor.  _ That’s kind of gross _ he thought, feeling dizzy. He leaned into Jaskier’s body as he came down slowly, seeing only darkness with his face buried into the professor’s shoulder.

After a minute hands came up to his shoulders, pushing him away gently. He blinked at the brightness of the room like he had just come out of a dark movie theatre. The moment felt similar to finishing a great film- as if he’d experienced an adventure so grand he was left disoriented. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re heavy with all those muscles,” Jaskier said. Geralt realized he was still partially pressing his weight into Jaskierand shifted to stand on his own. He looked at Jaskier’s expectant face and had nothing to say. Jaskier laughed. “And apparently completely useless after you come.”

Yennefer used to tell him the same thing. She said an orgasm was all it took to turn him from a wolf into a kitten. He could never formulate an argument against her and certainly couldn’t find one for Jaskier.

Geralt simply stood in a daze as Jaskier pulled up his own pants and pulled his shirt back on, neatening himself up to the point he barely looked any different than before all this began. Geralt glanced down and realized his softening cock was still hanging out of his jeans. God, he was a mess. He rushed to tuck himself away when he noticed a decent sized wet spot on the front of his pants.

“Did you wipe your fucking hand on my jeans?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier smirked like the prick he was. “You got come on my carpet,” he replied.

“On accident! You did this on purpose. That’s gross.” Geralt flapped his hands in a way he normally suppressed in front of others but was too tired and irritated to worry about now.

“Maybe you won’t question my work ethic next time then,” Jaskier said.

Geralt sent his most deadly glare at Jaskier but the man still smiled back. The little bastard had done exactly what Geralt told himself he wouldn’t let happen. He charmed him with his attraction, just to immediately reinforce he was just as childish and prideful as Geralt thought. Not that he regretted the sex, that was well worth the frustration. 

“Oh, and darling you might want to fix your hair before you leave,” Jaskier said, sickly sweet. Geralt pulled out his phone camera to see his hair was indeed wild. He did his best to comb his fingers through it before pulling it back up into a bun, far messier than the one earlier. He buttoned up his shirt again, tucking it in to try and minimize any visible wrinkles. It was time for him to go but he couldn’t let Jaskier have the last word.

He looked closer at the man and saw the red spots littering his neck were already starting to bruise. “You might want to add a scarf to that ensemble,” he said admiring his own work.

“What-” Jaskier reached up to touch his own neck, feeling the sensitive spots trailing the whole line of it. “You bastard, these will stay for like a week. How am I going to face my students?”

Geralt’s face twitched in a smile. “You didn’t seem to mind when I was making them.” Jaskier spluttered in response, not having a good comeback.

It was then Geralt turned around to leave. Just as he opened the door and stepped out Jaskier called from behind him. “See you around, Geralt.”

He didn’t turn back as he closed the door behind him, but heat splashed in his chest. The possibility of a repeat encounter thrilled him in spite of the prickling irritation he felt. While walking down the stairs and out of the music building Geralt realized he never told Jaskier his first name. It seems he wasn’t the only one who did his research.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their initial meetings, Geralt now is recruited to work on a project one on one with Jaskier. Can they get along well enough to do their job amidst certain tensions? Also is there more to the project than meets the eye?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing summaries like a cheezy radio announcer lol. The next chapter is here! I wanted to get it out as soon as possible after the lovely response to chapter one. Future updates likely won't be quite this fast but should happen within a few days. Enjoy! :D

Geralt lounged on his couch petting Roach, who had laid her head in his lap. The Great Dane was as big as a horse but he still spoiled her rotten, letting her up onto the couch. He even had specifically bought a massive family-sized one to fit her, despite rarely having enough guests over to actually fill it. It wasn’t just the two of them tonight, however. Yennefer was taking up the other end of the sofa with a glass of red wine in her hand.

Her girlfriend Triss had some work dinner, so Yen had insisted she come over to his house and they watch a terrible horror movie. It was routine bonding for the two of them, as no one else they knew liked horror. Plus, they spent half the time just talking, so it never mattered that the movies were bad. This one had something to do with witches, and Geralt had already pointed out three different times they used incorrect Latin.

“So, any updates on your new best friend?” Yennefer asked with a smile. 

A flicker of nerves ran through Geralt that he hoped didn’t show on his face. He wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets from his closest friend, but also he was far too stubborn to ever reveal to her just how right she had been. She’d never let him live it down and probably encourage him to do something stupid like ask Jaskier out. Better to let it remain only a stupid if enjoyable memory to slowly forget as he continued to never see the other professor ever again. 

Yennefer had known him long enough by now to just accept when he wasn’t going to respond to a question. “You mentioned killing him on Monday, have you made any progress? Any sordid details to share?”

Geralt huffed, shooting her a look. “I talked to him. He understands my feelings. It’s over.”

“Oh, your  _ feelings _ ,” Yennefer said looking like a cat that caught the canary. “Stoic Dr. Rivia shared his emotions with a practical stranger over some lute? This man must really be special.”

“You know how I am with my work. It’s dealt with now. No need to implement your crude ideas.”

Yennefer took a sip of her wine still smirking. “So, you’re not attracted to him?”

“Fuck off, Yen,” he grumbled.

“God, you’re grumpy,” she laughed. “Bite him, Roach.” The dog lifted her head towards Yennefer at the sound of her name before turning back to Geralt and giving him a wet kiss across his face. “Close enough.”

Geralt wiped the dog slobber off his cheek with a chuckle. He scratched Roach behind her ear, and she leaned into him. “You’d never bite me, right? Who’s a good girl?” Geralt was still firm in his belief that dogs are better than people. Roach never pestered him or insulted his work.

“You spoil that dog rotten. She’s probably suffocating under all the attention,” Yennefer teased him.

“Are you trying to imply I should get a boyfriend so my dog can spend less time with me?”

“You said it not me,” she shrugged.

“I told you, fuck off,” he said. Stretching, he could reach just far enough to push her leg with his foot. The force rocked her, making her spill a drop of wine onto her shirt. He laughed.

“You jerk,” she said, grabbing his foot and tickling it. Geralt squirmed and kicked while laughing, eventually managing to wrestle his foot away. Roach shifted on top of him in response to the disturbance, managing to step on his stomach as revenge. He groaned in pain. That was the downside of having a hundred-pound dog.

Geralt was distracted from their ruckus by the sound of his phone notification. He went to dig it out of his pocket, looking up to see Yennefer glaring at him. “It could be important,” he said, knowing she would always be insistent he worked too hard. Geralt loved his job though, he didn’t mind if it ventured into other parts of his life on occasion.

“True, could be another email from your secret admirer.”

Geralt pointedly ignored her and opened the message on his phone. Seeing it was from the museum director excited him with the possibility of a new project so soon. Reading through the full message, however, was a rollercoaster of emotions, caught between excitement and dread in a tug of war. 

It seemed Yennefer was not that far off in her assumption, Jaskier was cc-ed in the email. He was also asked to work for the museum. On the same piece as Geralt. They’d have to work together. Spend several days or weeks in the same room collaborating. This might be the death of him.

“You just made more facial expressions in a minute than I’ve seen from you in a month,” Yennefer said. She shifted on the couch to try and lean over him, vying for a glance at the phone screen.

He gave her the phone letting her read it for herself. “I’m fucked,” he said plainly.

“You should  _ get  _ fucked,” Yennefer said. If she had been amused over his situation before, now she looked insufferably pleased. Why was it that Geralt’s closest friend wished for him only to suffer? He leaned his head back against the couch, closed his eyes, and groaned.

“Good luck,” Yennefer said, reaching up to pat his head. “You’re gonna need it.”

*********

The archive room of the museum was one of Geralt’s favorite places. It didn’t hold much weight in the form of appearances. With grey cinder block walls and zero windows, the strain of fluorescent lighting on his eyes was compensated by the wonders the plain room held. Nothing made him feel more fulfilled than seeing an object from hundreds of years ago right in front of him and discovering its story.

It seemed Dr. Pankratz had a knack for disrupting Geralt’s normal feelings, though. Geralt had purposefully arrived early to set up his workspace before his collaborator joined. Any peace and quiet he normally felt in the archives, however, was quickly shattered when Dr. Pankratz walked through the door still shouting a goodbye down the hallway to some museum employee. 

“Well hello, Geralt, my  _ lovely _ colleague. I’m just ever so excited to begin this research endeavor together,” Jaskier said, looking far too pleased with himself. He strolled over to the table Geralt had spread several books and pages of notes over. He dragged over a chair and sat down diagonally across from Geralt where there was a clear space.

Dr. Pankratz only had a small cross shoulder bag made of brown leather with him. Geralt was riding on the hope that if he kept referring to the other professor as Dr. Pankratz he would be able to erase the picture of his orgasm face from his brain. Dr. Pankratz reached into his bag and pulled out a small, highly portable laptop. Fuck it, that wasn’t working.

Jaskier looked up and saw Geralt staring at him. “Got something to say? Hello maybe?” he said with a smirk. Geralt quickly looked back at the book in front of him, trying to force himself to return to the sentence he had been on before the interruption. He managed for a minute before he heard soft humming from the other end of the table.

“Could you not?” Geralt said, dripping with irritation. This was why he never worked in groups. 

“What, I’m not allowed to hum?” Jaskier said, looking like he’d just been told to stop breathing.

“I’d rather you not, yes,” Geralt replied. He fixed his judging gaze on the musician.

Jaskier turned back to his computer with a huff, muttering “rude” under his breath. He began typing on his keyboard using only two fingers, looking like a child still learning fine motor skills.

“Do you really not have any books?” Geralt asked, amazed that this supposed expert had brought only a cheap laptop. He was probably typing a fucking google image search of medieval crests. It was clear Geralt was the only dedicated professional here.

“Are you really that antiquated?” Jaskier said haughtily. “I know you’ve decided to embrace the aging white hair look but that doesn’t mean you need to  _ live _ in the dark ages. I’m not sure if you’re aware but they’ve actually put many books  _ online _ so you can access them all in one place.” The patronizing tone dripped from Jaskier’s lips.

Geralt glared at him. “I’m quite certain there are not pdf downloads of five-hundred-year-old texts about runic symbols.”

Jaskier laughed and reached over, plucking one of the smaller books Geralt had in his stacks. He read the spine before putting it back down and returning to his computer. Not five minutes had passed before Jaskier turned his computer screen around for Geralt to look at it, a smug grin on his face. Sure enough, it was a pdf download of the exact book and volume he had sitting on the table.

“Don’t you know you can find anything on the internet, my dear?” Jaskier said. “Especially when it’s in the database of the exact same library you got that book from that we  _ both _ have access to through the university.” 

Geralt was going to kill him. The fucker was sitting there all high and mighty, leaning back in his chair at an angle that made his jawline pop. He even stretched dramatically as if taxed from hard work. It drew Geralt’s eyes to the bulge of his biceps under his button-down and the sliver of skin revealed at his waist where the shirt wasn’t tucked in.

“Let’s just get the fuck to work,” Geralt said gruffly. 

“What witty banter you provide, really quite a swordsman with that tongue of yours,” Jaskier said, clearly leaning into the innuendo of his mockery. 

Geralt rolled his eyes and stood up, walking over to the wall made up of lockboxes. He followed the numbers on each of them to find the one he was looking for, quickly turning the dial in the sequence of the code the curator had sent to him. The lock clicked and he opened the door to reveal the gorgeous psaltery they were going to be working on. The instrument was in the traditional long triangle shape, designed to be played with a bow. Clearly it had been lovingly restored given the condition of the strings and each of the pegs they looped around.

“Don’t you need gloves?” Jaskier said from where he was still sitting, turned to watch Geralt. 

Geralt cursed in his head. This musician was making him look like an amateur. He walked to the side of the room with a sink, washing his hands thoroughly and drying them with a paper towel. Next to the sink was a box from which he grabbed a pair of nitrile gloves. Reading the box he saw they were size large, normally not a problem for most but irritating for a man like Geralt who had slightly oversized hands. He managed to get them on without ripping any holes in them, struggling more than he’d have liked especially with an audience.

Back at the locker he delicately lifted the psaltery out of its box to place it on a black mat lying in the center of their shared table. He returned to his seat, inching the chair forward to get the best angle in examining the piece. It was made of a dark wood that had faded with age but still shined under the lights of the room. In the center lay the focal point, the intricately engraved circle that allowed music to echo within the body of the instrument. It was common for psalteries to have intricate designs here with Celtic knots or floral engravings. This one, however, was special, with a cut out of a wolf, a small bird, and a star all curved into each other. It was a symbol Geralt had never seen before in his studies, but clearly it meant something. He doubted anyone would have customized a pricey piece like this without a tie to some royal court or brotherhood.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jaskier said, startling Geralt from his intense study.

“Me neither,” Geralt admitted. “I already did a basic scan of the well-known dynasties of the time period off the picture we were sent and found no links. There were several legions of knights that used wolf imagery but none paired with a bird and star.”

“The bird is a swallow based on the shape. The star is more abstract which might help to narrow down any potential matches.”

“It could be a combination of symbols. We should gather anything that is similar to any piece of it and try and link them.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jaskier said, finally allowing them to have a conversation that didn’t end in an argument. Geralt could feel the excitement about the project fizzle in his bones. It was rare he got something like this with no starting point, just adrift in the sea of historical records hoping to find a spark that lit the trail to where he needed to be.

He dug into the first book he thought might have a clue, as it covered all historically impactful knights of the 14th century. It was a heavy book. Geralt had opened to the first page and read two lines of the introduction before being interrupted.

“This room is so dreary, I think we need some music to liven it up,” Jaskier said. He messed about on his computer for a few seconds before some guitars and synth sounds emanated from it. Geralt looked up from his book and shot Jaskier a look that he hoped conveyed his absolute hatred.

“Come on Geralt it’s ABBA. Everybody likes ABBA.” The song continued, seeming to only repeat the single lyric  _ gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight _ . It felt like pinpricks in Geralt’s ears.

“Never heard of them,” he replied honestly.

Jaskier gaped at him, placing his hand on his chest. “You’ve never heard? Of ABBA? What are you one of those ‘I only listen to classic rock because I hate fun’ types?”

“I don’t really like music.”

If Geralt had thought his earlier reactions were overdramatic they were nothing compared to Jaskier’s response to this. The music professor actually stood up and began  _ pacing _ he was so distressed by Geralt’s omission.

“Don’t like music?! Who doesn’t like music!” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re literally studying an ancient instrument; the significance of musical history is right in front of you and you don’t even know who ABBA is.” 

“From the sound of them, they don’t have much relevance. Most crappy pop doesn’t have psalteries in it.” Jaskier stopped his movements to glare at Geralt directly. 

“Popularity and quality do not have an inverse relationship, regardless of what pigheaded men like you seem to think. To speak to a broad audience with passionate music is a far superior venture than art founded solely upon intellectual superiority and classism.” The hypocrisy of the moral high ground presented by a man with a doctorate degree who used his intellect as his sharpest sword was bitter on Geralt’s tongue.

“Honestly music as a whole seems overly emphasized throughout society. Is it really that important?” Now Geralt was just being contrary, but his thoughts had some grounding. Music to him had always been some hot trend everyone drooled all over while he stood to the side confused over what the fuss was about. Why not prod at it to poke professor golden boy off his pedestal?

“This is just unacceptable. Music is the greatest artform in existence; it voices the deepest pieces of the human soul unreachable outside of lyricism and harmony. I don’t know if I can sit across from a man that claims to  _ not like  _ music when it is one of the  _ pillars _ of humanity. As a historian, it’s disgraceful to scoff at the cultural significance music has played throughout thousands of years.”

Geralt bristled at the criticism. “Don’t talk to me about historical significance as if you have authority. I bet you can’t even name one bard from the fifteenth century.”

Jaskier paused, expression turning blank and calculated. They were left with only the music filling the absence of their heated words. He looked Geralt up and down before walking towards the door. 

At first, Geralt thought the other man was so upset by a silly pop song he was leaving without any of his stuff. Instead, Jaskier carefully closed the door before walking back towards Geralt. Before Geralt could figure out what was happening he was being dragged out of his chair by his shoulder and towards the blank cinder block wall. Geralt felt the cold stone through his shirt as Jaskier pushed him against it, effectively heating him up. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events.

Jaskier boxed him in, lining up their bodies so they were breathing the same air. Geralt was a broad man but somehow Jaskier managed to make him feel smaller, trapped up against the wall in a way he wasn’t opposed to. Blood was pumping through his body and he could feel it rushing south as he was already getting aroused. 

Jaskier leaned in even closer, letting just the whisper of his lips trace Geralt’s jawline. “Dafydd ap Gwilym,” he said in a seductive tone when he reached Geralt’s ear.

Geralt rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him.  _ Technically _ that was a fourteenth-century bard but Geralt wasn’t about to argue. Jaskier left two soft kisses along Geralt’s jaw before bypassing his lips and leaning into his other ear.

“Iolo Goch,” he whispered before nipping at Geralt’s ear lobe. The history professor let out a gasp, far more turned on by the dramatics than he’d like to admit. Jaskier pulled a few inches away from his face and Geralt followed, wanting desperately to feel their lips together once again. Jaskier’s hand gripped his shoulder and pushed him back against the wall, hard enough to jolt but not hurt.

“Oh no Mister Expert, I’m in control now.” Jaskier leaned in just close enough to taunt Geralt, letting his hot breath ghost over Geralt’s lips. The white-haired man tried to lean forward but was held steady by Jaskier’s hand. The dominance left Geralt flustered as he shifted his hips forward, seeking friction.

Jaskier smiled before moving in to trail kisses along Geralt’s neck. A small whimper wormed its way out of the back of Geralt’s throat. He tried to thrust up against Jaksier’s body, but the other man used his thigh to press his hips back into the brick. He was effectively pinned, teased by the strong muscles so close to his hard cock without any friction. The gentle kisses shifted into a harsh bite under his jaw, making Geralt moan.

“I know you  _ don’t like music, _ but I could write a song about the noises you make. You’re so quiet, it just makes me want to wreck you, make you scream.” The words dripped from Jaskier’s lips like honey, proving himself as every bit the songstress he aspired to.

Geralt was breathing heavily, only able to focus on the longing to have Jaskier’s mouth on his or his hands on his heated flesh. In the background that stupid fucking music was still playing. Now it was some French lyric paired with a sound that mirrored the spinning feeling Geralt was experiencing through arousal. 

Finally, Jaskier had mercy on him and connected their lips. Geralt moaned into the kiss and moved to deepen it only to have Jaskier pull away again. Jaskier’s smile was so smug Geralt kind of wanted to spit on him. Before he could get too frustrated Jaskier returned with another gentle kiss, keeping a teasing pace that lit Geralt’s nerves on fire. 

The pattern continued with Jaskier holding steady with his slow torturous kisses, pulling away each time Geralt tried to take back any control. Before long Geralt felt like putty in his hands, following Jaskier’s lead without any resistance. They flowed together and Geralt followed as if Jaskier were waltzing him around the room.

Just when Geralt had accepted his fate as forever being tormented by Jaskier’s soft lips, they pulled away without returning. The hand and thigh that had become familiar pressures holding Geralt against the wall also retreated as Jaskier sank to his knees in front of him. Despite his new freedom, Geralt couldn’t even think about moving, breath fast and vision unfocused.

Jaskier unbuckled Geralt’s belt and undid his pants, pulling out his hard cock. “Taliesin,” he said before sinking his mouth down onto Geralt’s dick. Geralt choked on a mixture of a laugh and a moan. The other professor was absolutely ridiculous while still managing to be unbearably sexy. 

The talents of his mouth were not limited to prose, it seemed. Jaskier took Geralt’s respectable size deep, before pulling back to tease along it with his tongue. A swipe over the head of his cock had Geralt’s hips twitching forward. Jaskier’s hands were quick to grip his waist, seemingly obsessed with keeping him against these cinder blocks. Geralt moaned as the musician took him deep into his throat. 

Geralt’s hands moved to Jaskier’s head without him even realizing, digging into silky brown hair. Jaskier suddenly pulled back, forcing a whimper out of Geralt. Jaskier’s eyes looked up and bore into Geralt’s, which he knew were blown wide with his arousal.

“Keep your hands at your side, or I’ll leave you achingly hard and insist we go right back to work without letting you touch me at all,” Jaskier threatened. Geralt rushed to move his hands back by his side, fingernails clenching into his palms hard enough to hurt. He had to close his eyes, too overwhelmed by Jaskier’s words.

Geralt felt like his heart was skipping beats, and before he could get it under control Jaskier was back on him, bobbing up and down on his cock. Geralt’s moans were getting loud, still understated compared to the noises Jaskier had made their first time together, but louder than the soft grunts he normally made during sex. 

Coming back into focus he, unfortunately, noticed the music yet again. The song said something about angel eyes. Suddenly Geralt needed to see the blue of Jaskier’s gaze. Unable to speak, Geralt stared down at the man working hard on his cock, pleading with his mind for him to look. As if able to hear his thoughts Jaskier tilted his head up, cock still deep in his mouth.

Blue met gold, and it was all over for Geralt. He fell over the edge without any warning, letting out high pitched whines as he came hard into Jaskier’s mouth. His body shook and hands clawed at the cold wall behind him, wanting to be tangled in brown hair. 

Geralt was panting and sweaty as he came down from his orgasm, feeling more worn than after a three-hour workout. Jaskier pulled off his cock, leaning back on his knees. He wiped his mouth and smirked up at Geralt looking obscene and far too pretty for a man who had just finished sucking dick. 

“Well, that was fun,” Jaskier said. Geralt fish-mouthed at him, a good few minutes away from being able to speak again. “You are a downright pompous man, Geralt Rivia, but you are a joy to take apart. Even more so because afterward, you can’t even defend yourself.”

“Fuck… you,” Geralt managed to grunt out.

“Oh, you are going to. Though you’re a bit spent,” he said looking pointedly at Geralt’s soft cock. Jaskier gently tucked him back into his underwear making Geralt shiver. “Your hand will do for now. Sound good?”

Geralt kind of wanted to curl up on the floor and take a nap, but the prospect of getting to touch Jaskier was breathing life back into his bones. He held out a hand to the man and helped him up from his knees. Jaskier popped up with a little jump that was too cute for Geralt to not smile at. 

Jaskier leaned in for a kiss, finally as forceful as Geralt had been longing for since the beginning. Somehow, in the midst of it, Jaskier managed to unbutton his own pants and push them with his underwear down his legs. Geralt trailed his hands up Jaskier’s thighs, fingers running through the dark hair coating them. He moved up higher and was shocked to find wetness had managed to seep down to where Jaskier’s thigh met his groin. The other man had appeared so controlled, yet his body betrayed just how aroused he was.

Geralt pulled back from their kiss, his fingers dancing around where Jaskier was warm and wet. “Yes?” he questioned.

“Please,” Jaskier said, hints of desperation finally seeping through his dominant demeanor. “I want you inside me.” Geralt smiled at the direction, relieved to have it be specified. He wasn’t the best at communication, obviously, but he knew enough basic decency to not venture into something that might be a sensitive subject without Jaskier’s approval.

Geralt traced his finger around Jaskier’s opening before pressing one finger inside, less adept at the art of teasing than his partner. The musician moaned at the entry, pressing down into it. Geralt moved his thumb to rub against Jaskier’s dick, pulling louder sounds out of him.

“More,” Jaskier said, demanding. Geralt obeyed, adding a second finger and fucking them in and out of him. Jaskier moved with him, fucking himself with Geralt’s hand. The man was stunning to watch. He was so quickly overcome with pleasure, losing himself into it but in a completely different way to Geralt. While Geralt went hazy and speechless, his body succumbing to pleasure as if in defeat, Jaskier’s pleasure was one of victory. He relished loudly in the sensations, engaging his whole body in order to be in command of his own ecstasy. 

“Fuck, I love this song,” Jaskier said in between moans. Geralt was startled into a laugh, listening to said song. It had some fun piano, he guessed. 

“You’re a very strange man,” Geralt said. He was still working his fingers in Jaskier, crooking them forward to brush that spot inside him.

Jaskier chuckled breathlessly. “I’d sing along but your fingers feel too good. Touch my dick-  fuck!”

Geralt wasn’t going to argue with that. He used his unoccupied hand to circle Jaskier’s dick, spurring even louder moans out of him. It was late and Geralt could only hope everyone else at the museum had gone home, otherwise they might get some awkward looks after this. The solution to Jaskier’s noise was to press their mouths together into a panting kiss. Jaskier moved his hand which had been pressed into the wall behind him to tangle into Geralt’s hair as they kissed desperately.

Geralt sped up his motions, determined to make the professor feel good. Several whines were muffled into Geralt’s mouth as Jaskier’s own movements began to lose their rhythm. He pulled away from the kiss to gasp for air before coming with a shout. Jaskier shook in Geralt’s hands as he gradually slowed his motions through his orgasm. Jaskier leaned his head onto Geralt’s shoulder, panting with his arms limply wrapped around his neck. Geralt moved his hands to hold Jaskier’s hips, fingers trailing wetness.

“Good job,” Jaskier said, still breathless. “Very good.”

Geralt couldn’t help the pleased flush that rolled through him. He enjoyed making others feel good. Just because he couldn’t shake the desire, he used a hand to lift Jaskier’s head from his shoulder and bring him in for one final gentle kiss. In it, he tried to convey the words he struggled with, his gratitude and happiness.

“We’re probably going to have to figure out how to work together without arguing  _ or _ fucking. Unfortunately,” Jaskier said with a smile, face still so close to Geralt’s. His heart skipped a beat, and he prayed to all the gods he didn’t believe in that he wasn’t going to fall for this ridiculous  _ music _ teacher just because he was an incredible fuck.

“Yeah probably,” Geralt admitted.

******

Geralt’s life quickly fell into a new pattern. Overall, it wasn’t all that different. He taught his classes in the mornings, droning on to freshmen with glazed-over eyes. He ate lunch with Yen most days, listening to her complain about administration or gush about her girlfriend. And when the day turned to evening, he took the train up to the museum to spend a couple of hours researching his newest project. Just with the new addition of Jaskier.

The two of them had settled into a strange but semi-functional relationship. Or at least they no longer were trying to bite the other’s head off constantly. They sat across from each other in the archive room, staring at their respective computer and books. Any hint in their quest to find the origins of the psaltery’s symbol would be presented and debated until they reached a conclusion. 

Geralt had to admit, while his detailed knowledge still had some holes, Jaskier was an analytical wordsmith when it came to history. He met Geralt on an intellectual level in their discussion that was rare to find outside of the history department. Not to mention, he was far less bland than all the crusty old men usually around Geralt. Their collaboration was certainly more raucous than Geralt was accustomed to in his quiet, safe space underneath the museum.

And if on occasion this passionate discussion turned to arguments, it was only to be expected between two men with such a rocky start. And if said arguments culminated repeatedly with Geralt coming into Jaskier’s hand or mouth, it was just a good way to let off some steam. Clearly, they both had stressful jobs and found each other attractive, why not enjoy each other’s company on occasion? Just so long as he overlooked the fact it was in the private confines of the place they were meant to work. After each time Geralt really tried to convince himself it was a mistake, but those arguments were getting less and less convincing.

It wasn’t like they were slacking off. The museum director didn’t even have a set timeline for them, telling them to treat it as a passion project to work on in their own time for a small stipend. If anything, Geralt was being his usual self, overworking by going to the museum most weeknights. It seemed he had met his match, however, as there wasn’t a single night sat in the archives that Jaskier didn’t join him.

If anything was going to impress him about his colleague, it would be that. Jaskier was still only a second-year assistant professor, a fact that had only enraged Geralt further when questioning the man’s validity to critique Geralt’s work. The position also meant Jaskier had a lot more work than Geralt who was recently tenured, getting thrown extra intro classes and needing to kiss up to the heads of the department. When Geralt went through it, he had considered running away to live into the woods and abandoning history forever about once a week. He certainly wasn’t spending the only extra hours he had in a stuffy museum.

Yet, there Jaskier was, cheery and energetic as ever. The man was so naturally sociable it shocked Geralt he’d choose to spend his time studying medieval artifacts rather than going to bars or doing whatever friendly twenty-somethings do. Jaskier’s motivation was a mystery, especially given his restlessness while working. There was rarely a moment where the other professor wasn’t talking, humming, playing some awful music, tapping on the table. It was a wonder Geralt hadn’t strangled him yet in irritation. The explanation was probably that the longer he let Jaskier irritate him, the better their eventual orgasms seemed to be.

That was another question that perturbed Geralt. Why was a charming handsome man messing around with _him_ at least three nights a week? It didn’t take long to realize Jaskier could have his pick of almost anyone he wanted. Just in the couple of weeks they’d been working together, Geralt had seen Jaskier charm three different security guards, one of which he knew was married. And straight. So, why did he bother with Geralt?

Geralt was aware he was attractive to some people, but that usually only lasted for a single hookup before people got tired of him. He wasn’t the best communicator, which he knew wasn’t ideal in a sexual partner; he was genuinely trying to get better at that. But also, he was  _ different _ in bed than what people expected from him. A large build and looming presence made others expect him to be dominant and rough, but that was just not who Geralt was. Making decisions during sex made him anxious, never feeling confident enough in reading what his partner might want. Despite how controlling Geralt might be in other aspects of his life, he needed direction in intimacy. Yennefer had been the only person to truly understand that, and while he was over her completely, he did miss the feeling of trusting someone enough to let go.

An obnoxious music teacher was not someone he planned to trust. Yet, Jaskier had slipped so gracefully into the role Geralt desired. It was still just simple hookups, but with each successive encounter, Jaskier took more and more of the control. Geralt felt a bit guilty, wondering how the other man wasn’t tired of telling Geralt how to act or touch him. Jaskier  _ seemed _ to enjoy what they did together, given he had initiated it the majority of times. 

Geralt knew this whole thing was temporary, so his goals were just to enjoy the sexual release while it lasted without getting attached and getting hurt when it inevitably ended. That’s why he hadn’t told Yennefer about anything. It just wasn’t serious enough to talk about. No use in getting her invested in sparks that would fade in a flash. They would burn quick and hot, as meaningless hookups should be.

Here they were a month into working together, though, and Jaskier hadn’t claimed boredom yet. Their project was proving frustrating, like looking for a needle in a haystack when you’re not quite sure what needles look like. To be truthful, they had solely found a series of dead ends. No knight, nor king, nor priest of the medieval era had ever combined a wolf, a swallow, and a star in recorded history. Normally, this stage of defeat would send Geralt into a whirlwind, locking himself in his office for hours, interrupted only by bitching to Yennefer about how this might be the end for him and his career.

Instead, he found a different way to channel his frustrations. Each time he yelled at Jaskier for being an obtuse idiot following a false lead, or mourned the loss of his research abilities, he found himself distracted by a wall behind him and a body pressed to his front. Sex had always been his favorite form of stress relief.

Geralt shook himself from his thoughts before they turned too inappropriate. He may have been blurring the lines of professionalism recently, but he certainly was still above getting turned on during his office hours. It was exam week, after all, he might get a frantic student trying to play last-minute catch-up. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about Jaskier in the first place. Letting the man invade his thoughts outside of the time they spent together and the occasional wank was a recipe for disaster. This wasn’t something he wanted to become familiar.

“Geralt stop being busy, I want to talk to you,” Yennefer said, entering his office. He had learned over the years to have a nonexistent startle response, but Yen had quite the talent for sneaking up on him, even if he didn’t visibly show it. She didn’t notice as she was clearly riled about something

“What, Yen?”

“Those bastards rejected my research proposal  _ again _ and I need you to listen, so I don’t march up to them and tell them to stick their misogynistic bullshit up their asses,” Yennefer said, pacing his office like lioness marking her territory. 

Anger flared in Geralt. “Fuck them. What was the excuse this time?”

“They’re having to make ‘budget cuts’ this year, and my work was just deemed ‘nonessential’. Never mind the millions of fucking dollars they’re pumping into worthless construction projects to hide the blatant misuse of student tuition. The university can spend a ridiculous amount of money on a worthless sports stadium despite our sports teams being shit, but I can’t get a lousy grant to cover server costs and to pay my grad assistants? This institution is such a fucking scam. I’m so sick of administrators who can’t even list a leader of the woman’s rights movement getting to decide whether my research of women’s history is fucking ‘essential’.” 

Geralt clenched his teeth and let out an angry sigh. He despised anyone who upset the people he loved, especially these fucking hypocrites. His skin itched to march up to Stregobor, the head of the department, to yell at the man until he was sufficiently chastened. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that letting Yennefer do it once she calmed down would be far more effective. She was far more eloquent and way scarier than Geralt. She alone had revitalized the crossover between women's studies and history at their university, reinventing curriculum and using her powers of persuasion to get four niche courses of women of varying eras created for her to teach. 

She didn’t need him to act for her, he just needed to listen. “Start making a list of points. Get the diversity council involved, that’ll make a nice stink.”

Yennefer stopped her pacing and started nodding to herself. “I’ll take a day to keep level headed. But only one, they don’t get to forget about me. I’ll get that fucking money if I have to pry it from their greedy fists. Since when do you trust the diversity council? I asked you to come to a meeting with me once and you scowled like I’d suggested you eat barbed wire.”

Geralt couldn’t very well admit that through talking with Jaskier, he knew they’d be an enthusiastic help for Yennefer. “Just can’t hurt,” Geralt said.

Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him but returned to the more pressing matters. “I’ll write a rough script, and send it to you to proofread. Just tell me if it seems too violent or whatever.”

Geralt nodded, though he wasn’t the best choice to gauge tone. To be fair, that’s likely why she chose him. Anyone else would censor her more, which would just irritate her even further. 

She collapsed into his extra chair with a huff. “Fuck this. What’s up with you love? Tell me about your project to distract me from my troubles.”

Geralt sent her a soft smile. “It’s proving quite difficult. We still don’t have any clear leads. Every mention of a wolf from the era just leads to a dead end. I hate to admit it but I’m doubtful there will be clear answers.” While he talked, his eyes wandered the room casually, scanning the spines of his books. After a moment of silence, he glanced back at Yen to see her looking at him like he had two heads. He furrowed his brows and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s really all you’ve got? Calm resignation? No frantic panicking or stubborn persistence to concerning levels?” she asked. She did have a point. Normally any project giving him trouble would be the sole object of his focus, capturing his every waking hour which were forcibly extended to keep working. This time was just… different he guessed.

Geralt shrugged, not really wanting to answer the questions but Yennefer glared at him warningly. She wasn’t someone avoidance worked on, unfortunately. Or fortunately, as he considered the dozens of times her persistence had been vital to his well-being. This wasn’t as pivotal as times in the past when he was in a dark place, but the system between them was the same.

“I don’t know Yen. It just hasn’t grabbed my focus as much as others. You know instruments aren’t exactly my interest area.”

“Don’t bullshit me Geralt, coats of arms are one of your specialties. I know how your brain works, if it’s not this project, there’s something taking up your thoughts. So, spill.” She was too damn perceptive. Geralt could hide his thoughts and feelings always if he wanted to, but he was well aware he couldn’t lie for shit. Not to her at least. Best to dance around the truth. 

“I am thinking about it. Just working with Jaskier keeps disrupting me. You know I’m not a collaborative person. Not to mention the man is  _ infuriating _ . Last night he actually suggested he should take the books I  _ already _ looked through to double-check them as if I’m incapable of reading properly, the prick.” After Geralt yelled at him for that Jaskier had distracted him by straddling him in his chair and grinding against Geralt’s crotch for so long he came in his pants like a teenager.

Yennefer just smiled at his irritation not saying a word. Geralt could feel himself start to sweat, knowing she was sitting there making  _ conclusions _ . He looked at her expectantly for a response, but she just let out a small laugh and began picking the nail polish off her fingernails. She was the smug housecat just taunting a poor mouse, sitting licking her paws and flashing her claws without striking.

“Don’t you have a script to write?” Geralt said. The slight jab was just met with that same knowing smile.

Yennefer stood up and walked over to him to bend down and place a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you for always reminding me I could be more of a disaster.”

“Dick,” he muttered.

“Love you,” Yen said in response. Geralt rolled his eyes fondly as she walked out of his office. Yennefer always knew what she wanted, and she always got it. It wasn’t the first time Geralt wished he had that clear path in front of him, but the tug felt stronger recently. She never got lost in the waves of fate, having long ago built herself a boat from which she could choose her own path. Geralt meanwhile had the materials ready to build but found himself too preoccupied with treading water. 

*******

Geralt sat at the table, biting the inside of his cheek to feel the pressure of his teeth. A large textbook sat in front of him open to a page he had read twice before so his eyes had decided there was no point in focusing on it. This project was truly seeming hopeless. He had stared at the psaltery for so long the symbol had burned itself into his retinas, flashing among the darkness every time he blinked. Geralt was fed up. 

Jaskier wasn’t coming. It had been an hour already, filled with irrational thoughts and tugging at white hairs to quell Geralt’s irritation. It was a Wednesday night and Jaskier hadn’t mentioned anything the day before about not being able to come tonight. He must’ve just decided to find a better way to spend his time than to follow ghosts through history in a basement. Geralt, of course, had nowhere else to be. 

Geralt couldn’t sit here anymore. He slammed his book closed and pushed out his chair, going to stand. Just before he could start putting his things back into his overstuffed messenger bag, the door to the room slammed open. Jaskier barged in brandishing an actual book for once. Geralt froze, staring at him.

“I knew, I  _ knew _ I had seen that fucking wolf before. I was searching in the completely wrong places but I finally found it!” he said waving the large leather-bound text around with his gesticulating.

“You found it?” Geralt asked, amazed.

“Fuck yeah I- oh. Do you need to leave?” Jaskier said, gesturing to where Geralt had been about to put away his things.

Geralt desperately tried not to blush. “No. No, I was just uh… tired. But this is enough excitement to keep me awake.”

Jaskier beamed at him. “Isn’t it? You don’t even know yet, look at this.” Jaskier placed his book on the table facing Geralt and opened it to the scrap of paper he had hastily used as a bookmark. Sure enough in the top right corner was the exact same wolf symbol as on the instrument down to the details of the teeth and the fur. Next to it was a large title with the word “Witchers”. Underneath were a short description and a drawing of a large man in black armor with two swords and a scarred face.

“Jaskier this is a fucking fantasy book,” Geralt said putting his face into his hand.

“Okay no, it’s a mythical creature guidebook.”

Geralt looked up at the man who had clearly gone insane. They were meant to be respected professionals, not fools chasing fairytales. The wolf must just be a strange coincidence. The fact that Jaskier brought it as if it was some lead was ridiculousness.

“Don’t give me that face. Those wolves are absolutely identical! This piece hasn’t ever been on display before and  _ we _ haven’t found any historical record of it, so I doubt one exists. It makes perfect sense then that we need to look outside of traditional history. Thus witchers!” Jaskier’s tone was so cheery it set Geralt’s teeth on edge.

“I will not throw away my professional reputation for some witch hunt.”

“Don’t you mean  _ witcher _ hunt?” Jaskier laughed. Geralt had several violent and sexual thoughts very rapidly. “Come on Geralt, it's the first hint of a trail we’ve found. Perhaps there was a musician highly dedicated to myths. Is that so absurd?”

Geralt refused to admit his logic was sound. He still wasn’t convinced this would lead anywhere productive, but he resigned that neither had anything else so far. “Why do you even have that book anyway?”

“Well, I’m a dungeon master. I need to have my  _ resources _ . You would know all about that. I picked this up years back at some flea market for only $20. Definitely robbed that seller, it's got to be some sort of antique. The pages look at least seventy years old.” Geralt ran his fingers along the edge of the yellowed pages. They did appear to be well-aged, though the book was miraculously still in perfect condition. He assumed it was a stylized imitation more than true aging though. After all, the parchment used seemed to be close to the style of the medieval era rather than paper from the 50s. Far too much effort for a silly fantasy handbook in his opinion.

“What’s a dungeon master?” he asked.

Jaskier made that face that was far too common with Geralt. The overdramatic full-body shock that there was yet another niche pop culture whatever that Geralt had the audacity to never have heard of. He just didn’t bother with that stuff; it was all so frivolous to him.

“You don’t know dungeons and dragons? Geralt you would love it! You get to create your own fantasy history. Serious games can even have real military tactics and geographical knowledge. The maps alone would give you an erection my dear. Plus, I mean who doesn’t love magic?”

“So, you’re the master for one of those roleplay things? I thought that was for kids.” Geralt had obviously heard of dungeons and dragons, he was a nerdy teenager in the 90s. Groups had been even less appealing to him then, however, and he’d never had the friends to play it. He probably read one of the books at some point but Geralt read a  _ lot _ of books as a kid, they tended to blend together.

“You really are no fun aren’t you. Dungeons and dragons can be a highly complex and skilled form of gameplay combined with storytelling and improvisation. I almost considered pursuing theatre, in fact, largely due to my renowned skills as a dungeon master.”

“Were you really good at the voices?” Geralt said, teasing.

“As a matter of fact, I was and still am so fuck right off,” said Jaskier, never letting himself be shamed. 

“Hm,” Geralt replied, turning back to the book in front of him. The symbols truly were identical. Looking closer at the picture of the man he noticed there was a medallion around his neck with the same wolf face. To be truthful Geralt had never heard of witchers before despite his formidable knowledge of medieval mythology, but he couldn’t very well ask Jaskier and admit his ignorance. Apparently, they were some sort of monster hunters. The more logical explanation was that the authors had completely fabricated the creature and used an ancient symbol they stumbled upon to make it seem more authentic. Perhaps this book could lead to that original source, however.

“Ugh I’m exhausted,” Jaskier said, collapsing into a chair next to Geralt with his limbs splayed. “I spent hours rummaging through my apartment for this stupid thing. I think I’m done with research for the day.” He punctuated his statement with a yawn that Geralt would guarantee was fake.

“You just got here. What was the point in coming all this way if you’re just going to turn back around?”

“Now I didn’t say I was ready to leave. I can think of a few other ways to make my trip worthwhile,” Jaskier said with a smirk. He used his feet to turn his chair to face Geralt. It screeched loudly against the linoleum floor making Geralt wince. 

Now with his body facing him, Geralt couldn’t stop his eyes from darting down to Jaskier’s crotch where his legs were spread. They had never talked about their hookups so blatantly, but it seemed Jaskier was getting cocky. Anticipating Geralt wanting him even not in the heat of passion.

“You better entertain yourself because I still have work to do,” Geralt said. He feigned nonchalance as he turned back to the book in front of him, but his eyes continued to dart towards Jaskier’s body. 

“That does sound interesting,” Jaskier said, moving his hand to trace the inside of his thigh. Geralt’s head faced forward but he was stuck gazing into his periphery at the motion, making his eyes ache. “But I don’t know if you’d have the patience for that.”

“I have plenty of patience,” Geralt said, returning his sightline to the words in front of him. He clenched his jaw to keep his neck firmly straight. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jaskier said with a hint of condescension. Geralt heard the sound of nails slowly scraping up the denim of Jaskier’s jeans. The black skinny jeans that clung to his legs in just the right way to accentuate his beautiful thighs. Geralt had never gotten the beginnings of an erection while trying to read a medieval knights textbook. (That’s a lie but he stumbled upon that one drawing of a man with a prominent codpiece when he was a teenager in the midst of a sexuality crisis so that didn’t count.)

Jaskier let out a soft moan and Geralt’s head whipped towards him. The musician was gently palming himself through his jeans with a smile. When he caught Geralt’s eye he winked like the bastard he was. Geralt wanted to cuss him out but instead, he blushed. The slow stirring of arousal in him was rapidly increasing with this display.

“You sure you just want to do work? Do you like how I’ve decided to entertain myself?” Jaskier’s questions were teasing but Geralt recognized the check-in they were as well. For a man consistently engaging in spontaneous sex he was well crafted in the art of subtle consent which Geralt had to admire. Being so sweet about it did  _ not _ make it easier for Geralt to be deliberately stubborn, however. He licked his lips and gazed at where Jaskier’s hand was still moving against himself.

“Fuck,” Geralt said. He stood up from his chair suddenly, making it clatter backward. He turned towards Jaskier and paused, hesitant to move forward without instruction. Jaskier smiled up at him so sweetly Geralt ached a bit.

“Go ahead darling,” Jaskier said nodding his chin towards the floor. Geralt dropped to his knees in response, face now so close to Jaskier’s crotch. Arching up his hips with his back still on the chair, Jaskier unzipped and pulled down his pants. The chair tipped backward slightly with his weight, making him fumble and laugh. He always managed to pull off awkwardness with a warm charm. 

With his pants now pushed to around his ankles Jaskier was left in his tight boxer-briefs. They were bright red with small gold dragons all over them, far too cutesy for the position they were currently in. This wasn’t the first time Geralt had encountered the other man’s patterned underwear though, so he wasn’t disturbed from his mission of reaching up and pulling them down Jaskier’s thighs.

Geralt moved in close to feel the heat of Jaskier, glancing up for permission from him. Jaskier smiled at him and gave an encouraging nod. Geralt leaned in to place his mouth against Jaskier’s dick, starting with soft kisses and the trailing of his lips to work the musician up slowly. He teased Jaskier, tracing his tongue around the man’s hole and dick without applying true pressure. Yet his ministrations were merely an illusion of power given his hands had involuntarily found their place behind his back where Jaskier so regularly encouraged them to be. 

Long fingers found their way into Geralt’s hair as he worked. The tugging sparked pleasure down his spine causing him to moan against Jaskier. The other man responded by pulling harder, pressing Geralt roughly against him. Soon Jaskier began thrusting against the suction of Geralt’s mouth, never one to be still or silent during sex. His moans were loud, echoing in the enclosed space. Geralt had stopped processing the fear of getting caught at this point, having become infatuated with the sounds the musician made. It lit Geralt on fire to hear so clearly his partner’s unabashed pleasure.

“You feel so good for me. I’ve taught you, well haven’t I?” Jaskier said.

Geralt looked up at his face trying to muster up a glare while still working his tongue over Jaskier’s dick. It was always when Geralt was on the edge of singing his praises Jaskier revealed his arrogance. Geralt had had plenty of skills prior to Jaskier, thank you very much. The only thing the bastard had taught him was patience. And maybe how good hate sex could feel.

“Don’t give me that face love,” Jaskier said. One of his hands stroked the side of Geralt’s face, thumb moving to relax the furrow in his brow. “I’ve got you so well trained. Even when you’re mad at me your hands stay behind your back where they’re supposed to be. You just want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Geralt flushed and his eyes returned to the task in front of him. He doubled his efforts, licking deep into Jaskier’s hole before returning to quick movements against Jaskier’s dick to hopefully distract him. Jaskier’s words had left him heated and embarrassed, feeling caught. After all the man was right, Geralt just wanted to submit to him even when Jaskier infuriated him. He didn’t want to think about it too much, he just wanted them to enjoy this moment together. 

Jaskier thankfully moved on quickly, focusing again on getting the most amount of pleasure he could from Geralt’s mouth. In just a few more minutes Jaskier was shaking as his legs tightened against the sides of Geralt’s head. With a whining moan, Jaskier came. His whole body trembled through it and he tugged hard at Geralt’s hair who relished in the exhilarating pain. 

Jaskier panted above him and slowly relaxed his muscles. His thighs fell lax and open and his fingers unwound themselves from white hair allowing Geralt to lean back onto his heels. His jeans were painfully tight against his erection, but his hands remained where they were clasped behind his back.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” Jaskier said still breathing heavily. He was splayed limply in his chairs, arms hanging by his sides with no efforts made to move his pants from around his ankles. “So good for me.”

Geralt couldn’t help the quiet whimper that left his throat. The praise was too much on top of his arousal. Jaskier had somehow managed to wreck him without even touching him.

“You like that?” Jaskier asked, sounding excited. “Give me five minutes to regain my limbs and then I’ll give you a proper reward for being so good.” 

Geralt looked down at the floor to hide the small smile that graced his lips. This whole scenario just continued to be so perfect. They should be a horrible match, but Jaskier knew how to be an excellent partner. It was important Geralt didn’t get too comfortable though. Their facade of a relationship had an expiration date inching near. Best he just relished in the simple pleasures while it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave comments if you like, I adore reading replying to them :) Look out for updates soon


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier continue on their journey trying to decode their mystery project while their mess of a relationship also develops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter getting us to about halfway through the fic! Hope it wasn't too bad of a wait this time. Enjoy!! :D

That Friday night found Geralt cozied up on his couch with a mug of tea and a mystery novel. Yennefer and Triss had gone on a romantic weekend getaway, canceling their semi-weekly drinks at the shitty bar down the road. Geralt was quite thankful, actually. All this extra time with Jaskier after hours on top of his school days had really maxed out his socialization. A quiet night at home with only his dog for company was exactly what he needed.

Geralt could never get what he wanted though apparently, as just when he was getting to a good part in his book he heard his phone beep. He had left the stupid thing all the way in the kitchen so he would be off it for the night. 

“Always something, right Roach?” Geralt said to the dog sprawled across the other end of the couch. He sat up with a groan, placing his tea on the coffee table. He folded the corner of the page to save his place and put the book down beside the cup. 

Walking to the kitchen he found his phone lit up on the counter. On the screen were three new messages from an unknown number. Confused, Geralt quickly unlocked the phone to read them.

_ Hey I got your number through the faculty directory I hope that’s okay. We’re working together so often seems only natural we be able to reach each other outside of that _

_ I know u have your doubts about the whole witcher thing but I think we should follow it. We need to look in new places now that we’ve exhausted formal avenues. Meet me at the city library tomorrow at 3  _

_ This is Jaskier btw _

The man was every bit as annoying through text as he was in person, Geralt concluded. To just assume Geralt would join him on a ridiculous fantasy hunt- on a Saturday no less- without even asking was beyond arrogant. Not to mention finding his phone number through staff records was a bit invasive. Likely Jaskier had assumed when asked about either Geralt would have said no on impulse. Just because he was right didn't make Jaskier’s ulterior means okay.

Although, they had known each other for over a month now. Geralt could admit it wasn't _entirely_ unreasonable that they be able to contact each other easily for work matters. Truthfully, he would be a hypocrite to critique Jaskier too harshly. The man was so invested in this project, he couldn’t help but cross a couple of boundaries. That mindset was all too familiar.

Looking down the texts were still waiting for an answer. He could always just ignore Jaskier and continue on with a peaceful weekend as planned. Could he leave the musician by himself on this project though? Knowing Jaskier, Geralt would wake up Sunday morning cc-ed in an email to the museum director claiming the psaltery once belonged to a wizard.

To Jaskier:

**Fine**

***********

The afternoon sun was bright, forcing Geralt to squint as he climbed the stone steps of the library. The building was one of his favorites in the city, made from bold gray stone with two wolf statues guarding either side of the double doors. It had never made much sense to him, as what did wolves have to do with books? He had looked it up once and found some story about wolves that used to protect the city back when it was barely more than a village, one of those legends passed down to make children smile. And to give an excuse to carve some wolves.

At the top of the steps Geralt paused. The library was large with several floors and they hadn’t discussed a meeting place. They hadn’t discussed anything at all in fact. In all likelihood, Jaskier could never show up just to leave Geralt looking like a fool. Checking his watch, he saw it was still ten minutes before three. Jaskier wasn’t known to be early, so Geralt doubted he would be there already.

He stepped to the side, standing next to one of the wolves. The thing was quite massive, head coming up to Geralt’s chest. Quite enraptured by it, Geralt placed his hand on the wolf’s snout, feeling the smoothness of polished stone.

“Are you petting the wolf?” said a voice halfway down the steps.

Geralt spun around to see Jaskier making his way towards him, a large grin across his face. Geralt quickly dropped his hand to his side. Looking at him it seemed the work clothes Geralt had become accustomed to were actually tame for Jaskier day to day. His shirt was an assault on the eyes, light pink with big purple flowers across it and unbuttoned  _ far _ too low for a fucking library. And were those leather pants? Geralt couldn’t decide whether to roll his eyes or drool.

“Did you read a lot of romance novels growing up? I think you take the strong, silent type trope too seriously,” Jaskier said, having reached where Geralt stood. “Say goodbye to your wolf friend, let’s go inside.”

Jaskier strolled through the front doors and Geralt followed. They went up a flight of stairs and turned left, Jaskier seeming to know exactly where they needed to be. Walking along they reached the far side of the building where a large rounded window jutted out of the side throughout all the floors. Sitting in the sunlight filtering through the glass were a couple of tables with a view of the city outside. It was beautiful and somewhere Geralt would never choose to sit, afraid of the distractions being in the center of the open room would entail. Jaskier plopped his bag down on the center table with a thud.

“Well let’s get to work then, shall we?” Jaskier said, clapping his hands together. “Over there in those three rows are all medieval fantasy. Hopefully, there’s something there that links back to my book or witchers.”

Geralt couldn’t help but scoff. “I thought we agreed, no fairytales. We should investigate the writers of the book and trace it from there.”

“What a brilliant idea, if only I had thought of it,” Jaskier said sarcastically. “Do tell me how you plan to trace the origin of a book with no author or publisher listed.”

Geralt furrowed his brow in confusion. “But…?”

Jaskier opened his bag and tugged out the leather-bound guide to mythical beings. He shoved it into Geralt’s hands who jolted to keep it from falling. “You’re welcome to check for yourself.”

Geralt opened to the first page and found it to be blank. Turning it revealed only the book’s introduction, claiming it to be the one true resource that recorded every creature of magic and evil known to this world. Closing the text, there wasn’t even a title on the cover. The back pages were the same, zero information outside of the  _ vital _ details of monsters a to z. Wasn’t that just brilliant?

“Yet another dead end,” Geralt grumbled.

“Don’t be so dismal,” Jaskier said, plucking the book from his hands. “This here is a real-life mystery. A book without a past to match a symbol with no records. This is every nerdy kid’s fantasy. Or, wasn’t your real dream as a child to be Indiana Jones like every other dusty historian stuck in a museum out there?”

“No, I wanted to be a historian,” Geralt said.

“Well, at  _ least  _ admit you think Harrison Ford is hot.”

Geralt gave a small smile. “He’s hot.”

“Thank the gods, the man has at least some taste! I knew an archeologist with a whip had to be within your interests,” Jaskier said, eyes darting Geralt up and down. Geralt had to tense to prevent himself from squirming under his gaze.

“Fine, I’ll indulge in your quest to nothing.”

Jaskier smiled and placed the book down on the table. He turned to walk towards the shelves full of fictions he insisted held truth. His ass looked incredible in those pants “Don’t think I didn’t notice your convenient change of subject darling.”

Geralt sighed. This was going to be a long day.

****

Three hours later and Geralt was devolving into misery. Having scoured through shelves that contained books akin to those on his middle school reading lists, he was starting to doubt the direction his career was going. It was not something he would openly admit to, but maintaining a reputation was important to Geralt. He couldn’t always achieve that through social means, so he depended on his work to be rock solid.

He turned the page of the book in front of him to reveal yet another over-sexualized drawing of a woman in dysfunctional fantasy armor. His head made a soft thud as he collapsed face-first against the table. This endeavor was becoming sickening. Something hit the top of Geralt’s head. It felt like a ball of paper, clearly thrown by his research companion.

“And people call me dramatic. Come on dear, it’s only fiction. Far less soul sucking than the horrors of history, is it not?” Jaskier should just leave him here to rot, his brain was already starting. The musician didn’t get the memo it seemed though. After receiving no response, he began poking Geralt repeatedly.

“Geralt,” he said, drawing out the t. The poking shifted from Geralt’s arm to the side of his head. “The great Dr. Rivia can’t have been bested by a few hours of research.”

Geralt-- quick as a cat-- grabbed Jaskier’s hand in the midst of its poking. The professor let out a yelp far too loud for a library, drawing a few gazes from the scattered patrons around them. Geralt raised his head to look at Jaskier. After a beat he realized he was still holding the younger man’s hand, dropping it quickly.

“We have wasted six hours of work between the two of us to illuminate only misogyny in fantasy circles and the continued hopelessness of our assignment.”

“The drawings  _ are _ quite gross. That’s a bonus of our sacred text, the sorceresses and bruxa are depicted as modestly as history required. Though, that simply highlights a separate facet of female oppression. Cis boys just need to learn women are far sexier when properly equipped to be able to kill you. Or at the very least let’s draw some male fighters in slutty outfits for a change.”

Geralt felt the knot of frustration in his chest loosening. Jaskier may continually spout nonsense but at least it was entertaining nonsense. A smile twitched on his face.

“Ah, I have returned Geralt Rivia from eternal despair! Praise the gods!” Jaskier proclaimed. He continued to lack proper volume control for public spaces.

“Fuck off,” Geralt said fixing his face into a convincing glare. He couldn’t, however, dull the glimmer of mirth in his eyes. Knowing Jaskier at all was to know that a spark was all he needed to run with something.

“But darling, my life’s goal is now to bring you joy, even on your darkest day. Never again will the dark creature of doubt claw at your mind with me by your side to protect you.” Jaskier’s arms flourished as he embraced the character. Geralt rolled his eyes but felt his heart beat stronger at the extravagant decree.

“Keep your voice down,” Geralt said, glancing at the glares they were receiving from their fellow library-goers. Jaskier turned to one particularly riled woman to their right and gave her a flirtatious wave, ignoring the daggers she glared into his chest.

“I welcome an audience,” Jaskier said with a smile.

Geralt turned to the stupid book in front of him. An image flashed in his head of him taking Jaskier over this table in front of everyone. He rubbed his eyes to wipe that thought away. Never before had Geralt met a man obnoxious enough to bring out his dominant side just from the desire to shut him up. Geralt considered the opposite scenario but cringed. In truth he was far from an exhibitionist even in fantasy, preferring private intimacy. Jaskier, though, seemed like he’d flourish under the eyes of others in any scenario.

“Riveting book there?” Jaskier said, thankfully ending that train of thought.

“It’s dreadful,” Geralt answered honestly.

“Well, perhaps it’s a good time to transition to something… more interesting,” Jaskier said suggestively.

Geralt ignored the thrill that ran through him. “I am not having sex with you in a public library.”

“Is the issue the me part or the public part? Or the library part? Do you have a limit to the number of books you can have around you? I once had a boyfriend who couldn’t come in fluorescent lighting; it was difficult given we lived in dorms and it was either that or solely fairy lights. Tried to do romantic candles once but gave up on it when we nearly lit his sheets on fire.” Jaskier’s fingers drummed across the table as he rambled. He seemed almost nervous.

“Public,” Geralt said. “We’ve already had sex in fluorescent lighting.”

“It was merely an  _ example _ .” Jaskier opened his mouth before closing it again clearly debating something. This repeated twice more, accompanied by the continued finger tapping.

“Out with it, Jaskier.”

“Come home with me,” Jaskier said. He was pale and quiet, the first time Geralt had ever seen him less than confident. Maybe it was that sliver of vulnerability that dismantled Geralt’s thousands of reasons why this was a bad idea.

“Okay.”

“Great!” Jaskier said, immediately hurrying to close all the books in front of him and stack them. He picked up the tall stack, bringing them over to the library desk. Jaskier hastily threw the books three at a time down the return chute in the desk, oblivious to the clatter they were making.

Geralt was frozen where he sat. This was going to be a mistake. He just couldn’t convince his racing heart of that fact.

His heart was still vocal as they sat on the train, waiting the few stops to get to Jaskier’s apartment ten minutes away. Excitement thrummed in his body even as his brain repeated how this would inevitably end in disaster.

“Just two more stops now. It’s not the prettiest neighborhood but rent is cheap, and the art district is just around the corner. Where do you live?”

Geralt hesitated. Jaskier was taking him to his apartment the least Geralt could do was trust him with a general description of his house. “I’m fifteen minutes in the other direction. A townhouse on the edge of the city. Bought it two years ago.”

“That must be beautiful! Something like that is my dream, with a cute exterior and a small yard. Good to know it’s not a complete fantasy on a professor’s salary.”

“It’s feasible if you save,” Geralt said.  _ Though you probably spend more on your clothes in a year than I’ve spent ever _ , he thought to himself. “And I make some extra money in the summers working in private security.”

“Woah, you are just a walking wet dream. Professor by day, bodyguard of the stars by night. How’d you even get into that?” Jaskier turned in his seat with one knee up to face Geralt.

“Mostly it’s just standing by doors being ignored by rich pricks. It’s the family business, I’ve been doing it with my brothers since I was eighteen. Dad is the boss.”

“Very cool. And hot,” Jaskier said intently. “I used to do DJ gigs in grad school for extra cash, but the late nights caught up to me eventually. Was loads of fun but I prefer presenting my own music, not remixing someone else’s.”

Geralt nodded not knowing what to say. DJs exclusively played music that made him want to rip off his own ears. Thankfully, he was saved by them arriving at their stop.

After exiting the subway station, they walked not twenty feet before Jaskier proclaimed they were here. The building was plain as Jaskier claimed, a brick square scattered with uniform square windows and a black door in front of them. Jaskier entered the code and they walked up two flights of narrow stairs to reach his front door.

Once it was opened, however, the plainness abruptly ended. Jaskier’s apartment was decked in décor, filled to the brim with colors and art. The small space made up of a kitchen and a living room had been lovingly crafted into a home. A bright blue couch popped in the center of the floor over a soft-looking grey rug. On the walls hung several canvases and picture frames. Geralt could see a framed issue of the Advocate next to the window and a picture of Jaskier and some girl lounging in a field on the other wall. The bookshelves across from them were a copy of the ones in Jaskier’s office stuffed full of books, sheet music, and knickknacks of all sorts. Geralt wasn’t usually the nosy type but he had the urge to wander the room picking up every little thing he saw to examine it. Perhaps it was because he knew if the situation were reversed that is exactly what Jaskier would do.

“Ooh, I have lemonade!” Jaskier said. He quickly walked to the kitchen area, opening the fridge to pull out a plastic pitcher. Placing it on the counter, he reached up into a cabinet to grab a couple of glasses. The stretch raised his flowy shirt from his waist, giving Geralt a fine view of the leather clinging to his ass and a sliver of skin at his hips. A bit of softness spilled over the tight waistband that Geralt wanted to press his teeth into. Apparently, that would have to wait until after lemonade.

He was handed a glass and took a small sip, trying not to wince. Geralt didn’t actually like lemonade, the sour taste made his tongue hurt. Jaskier leaned back against the counter staring at Geralt as if admiring a view. Geralt took another sip.

“So, why do you like not being in control?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt coughed, trying not to choke on his drink. “What?” he said, strained.

“Come on now we both know it's long past time we talk about this. I apologize if I pushed any boundaries before, everything was so spur of the moment, and clearly we have a natural alignment of interests. But, the rule is we talk this all out before we have sex, sound good?”

Geralt sighed, but he knew the other man was right. Their choices were to admit this was happening and discuss boundaries before anyone got hurt or leave now and move on from each other. So, really Geralt didn’t have much of an option. “I feel better with directions.”

Jaskier nodded. “So, you like to be told what to do. What else?”

The simple quandary made Geralt’s anxiety spike. He hated open-ended questions, that was the whole point of this type of dynamic. Geralt never had to worry if he was asking for too much or too little if he let someone else decide for him.

“Okay, let’s try more specific questions,” Jaskier said, calmly picking up on Geralt’s subtle shift towards panic. “We’ve dabbled with this dynamic where you are more submissive and I’m more dominant, I’m assuming you want to continue that?”

Geralt nodded and Jaskier beamed. That smile rippled through Geralt like it was high praise.

“What about more physical kinks? You were very good at listening when I told you where to keep your hands, is bondage something that’d interest you? You’d look so beautiful tied up for me.” Jaskier’s gentle tone was sending shivers down Geralt’s back. He took a sip of his lemonade trying to fix the sudden dryness of his mouth, but only grimaced at the tart taste.

“I… I like being tied up,” Geralt admitted. He loved it, in fact. It had always felt so peaceful when he would play with Yennefer, but since her he had never met anyone he would trust his body with like that. Jaskier may delight in riling him up, but Geralt knew in matters like these he was trustworthy. Every one of these chaotic rendezvous were filled with respect from the musician.

Jaskier’s smile turned more scheming. Behind his eyes gears were working to formulate some sort of plan. He put his drink down on the counter behind him, having not taken one sip from it. “One more question. Opinions on teasing, me riding your face, and me penetrating you?”

“Technically that’s three questions,” Geralt muttered. The scene Jaskier was planning began to take shape in Geralt’s mind and he  _ really _ liked what he was seeing.

“Don’t get lippy with me. I was hoping to start touching you soon, but we could always just spend more time discussing your thoughts on punishments if you prefer.” Jaskier twisted the ring on his finger casually, an air of confidence surrounding him. Geralt thought about how that ring might feel during a spank, if it would leave a mark on him. He wasn’t even fucking into pain play; Jaskier was muddling his mind with his seduction discussion.

“I want all three. Please,” Geralt said. He couldn’t stop the sliver of desperation, feeling arousal swirling in his stomach before they even touched.

“And I want nothing more than to give them to you darling.” Jaskier’s words soothed the last bit of worry Geralt had left. That voice that fretted whether his partner truly wanted this or just went with it to appease Geralt was for once silent. Jaskier stepped forward to kiss him and Geralt fell into it with zero fight in his system.

Jaskier’s hands quickly found themselves in Geralt’s hair, tugging lightly to guide the kiss where he wanted. Jaskier’s lips were dominant without harshness, tongue dipping into Geralt’s mouth without turning too messy. Teeth skimmed at Geralt’s bottom lip but never bit down enough to cause sparks of pain. Jaskier notorious for being too much was in this moment the epitome of balance.

Geralt went to wrap his arms around the man against him when he remembered the drink still in his hand. With a small push, he exited the kiss to stomp over to the counter. He slammed down the cup onto the counter, sending a few drops of liquid flying. “Fucking lemonade.”

Jaskier burst into laughter. “Well, now I know not to serve you lemonade in the future.”

“Yes,” Geralt said. He wondered if that meant they had a future. Hopefully one with more kissing.

Jaskier grabbed his hand and began dragging him towards a door Geralt assumed was the bedroom. “Come on. Now that we’re in my playground, I have all the necessary resources at my disposal. Time to have some real fun.”

_ Was what we did before not fun? _ Geralt thought.  _ If those times left me feeling boneless will I survive this? _

They entered the bedroom, which was a calmer space than the other areas of the apartment. The walls and bedding were white with blue and gray pillows that matched the large painting of the sea above the bed. The headboard was made of three wooden bars that would be easy to tie someone to. It was a space where Geralt’s senses didn’t feel overwhelmed, a rarity when in Jaskier’s vicinity.

Just after they crossed into the room, Jaskier stopped. He turned, taking Geralt’s other hand as well to cradle both of them in his palms. “Just tell me if anything is too much,” he said, absolute sincerity shining in his eyes.

Geralt felt a small lump of emotions in his throat before swallowing it down. “Of course,” he nodded. “And you too.”

Jaskier’s smile was far too soft for a hookup, too gentle for a man he barely liked. His thumbs traced across the backs of Geralt’s hands before letting them fall. “Will you undress for me, love?”

Geralt nodded, clumsily pulling his black t-shirt over his head. He threw it on the floor before considering whether that would be rude or not. Looking at Jaskier he saw the man was preoccupied, looking in the back of his closet for supplies. Geralt shrugged to himself and kicked off his boots, not bothering to untie them. He was glad Jaskier wasn’t the type to watch him get undressed, as he had never learned a way to make it appear anything other than haphazard.

When Jaskier turned back around, he was met with the image of Geralt naked except for a pair of plain black boxer-briefs. Geralt tried his best not to look awkward, refusing to cover where the stirring of arousal made his bulge visible through the thin fabric. Jaskier had sucked his dick several times; there was no need for modesty.

“Those too,” Jaskier said, nodding towards the underwear. Now he watched as Geralt carefully pulled them down his legs, focusing intently on balancing on each foot to remove them gracefully. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Before Geralt could process the praise, Jaskier threw the things he had retrieved from the closet onto the bed. The musician tugged Geralt over to do the same with him, pushing Geralt back to sprawl on the bed as if he were dainty and light rather than a large muscular man. Jaskier jumped on top of him, landing with a soft thud against his chest with a smile on his face.

Jaskier scooched up Geralt’s body to pull him in for another kiss. While their mouths were occupied Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arms guiding them up above his head to hold him down by the wrists. A spike in arousal shot through Geralt, pulling a gasp from him. The pressure of Jaskier on top of him teased the smallest amount of friction against his bare cock slowly growing to full hardness.

“Move up please,” Jaskier said, letting go of Geralt’s wrists and tapping his hip lightly. Geralt wriggled upwards so his whole body was centered on the bed, arms still held above his head. Jaskier grabbed a pillow to tuck behind his head before getting to work.

One of the objects Jaskier had retrieved from the closet was a length of black rope that he began wrapping around Geralt’s wrists. The cord was soft against Geralt, revealing its quality. Nimble fingers worked quickly to tie Geralt to the headboard, creating an effective wrist cuff and tie-off that wouldn’t pinch or tighten with any struggle.

“You’ve practiced this before,” Geralt observed. He wasn’t shocked to learn Jaskier had experience with bondage, would be more shocked if there were things the man  _ didn’t  _ have experience with. Although, he would have pegged him as more of a brat by first glance than the dominant type. Never judge a book by its cover he guessed, no matter how loud. Geralt of all people should know that.

Jaskier chuckled as he pulled the final knot tight. “I have. Though, of all the people I’ve had tied up, you might be the prettiest.” He leaned back on his heels sitting over Geralt’s stomach just inches from his cock to admire his handiwork.

Geralt scoffed and looked away. “No need for flattery, you already have my permission to have your way with me.”

Jaskier leaned forward to place a line of soft wet kisses up Geralt’s throat. Hands cradled the sides of Geralt’s head as Jaskier lined up their faces. “But flattery is vital in my plan to show you how good you are for me.”

Blush trickled up Geralt’s neck as he leaned forward for a kiss to distract from it. Jaskier pulled back at the last second leaving Geralt to tug against his restraints. The pull created a dichotomy in him, the excitement of hot arousal pumping through his blood matched with the calm release from the anxiety of making the decisions. Jaskier had the control, Geralt’s only job was to feel and to listen.

“I really like having you tied up, it gives me so many ideas,” Jaskier said. He leaned forward to finally give Geralt the kiss he had been itching for. The kiss brimmed with sensuality, slow tracing of each other tongues. Geralt was moved solely by the will of Jaskier’s hands, with no choice when Jaskier pulled away. “Love this mouth, can’t wait to use it later. But first...”

Jaskier slipped down Geralt’s body, leaving a trail of kisses to his chest. Reaching his nipples Jaskier suddenly nipped at the right one, startling Geralt with the pain in contrast to earlier tenderness. In response to Geralt’s gasp Jaskier soothed the nipple with his mouth, tongue swirling around the now hardened bud. Switching to the left side he repeated the pattern of pain and soothing. Geralt twitched under the treatment, desperate for more.

Jaskier’s hand wandered down to trace Geralt's thighs. Nails tickled the sensitive skin leading up to his crotch but never getting close enough to touch where his body strained. Jaskier truly had reputable skills when it came to teasing. Fingers trailed through the dark hair running from Geralt’s belly button to his erection. Burying into the curls they tugged lightly, pulling a whimper from his throat.

“Want something?” Jaskier asked, filled with cockiness. He leaned down to bite at Geralt’s nipple again, kicking up the bound man’s breathing. Without so much of a stroke to his cock, Geralt felt wrecked, a thin sheen of sweat began to coat his body with his flush as his heart raced beneath Jaskier’s lips.

“Please,” he said, so quiet it was barely audible. Jaskier’s musician’s ears, trained to detect the slightest falter of a note, heard him clearly. He caught Geralt’s eyes and locked him with a smile before finally letting his hand wrap gently around Geralt’s cock. 

He became lost in the sensations, eyes fluttering closed. Fingers traced along his shaft enough to send sparks of pleasure, but nowhere close to satisfying. Jaskier’s tongue returned to his nipples, only adding to the dizzy desire spinning in Geralt’s mind. He longed for more, for Jaskier to grip him tighter, to fill him up and fuck him hard and fast. But also, he wanted to stay just like this in an endless pleasant limbo.

Just as Geralt accepted his fate, Jaskier changed. That was becoming a pattern. He lifted his mouth and gave Geralt’s cock one last stroke to pull a final moan from him. Jaskier smiled as he wiped the spit from his mouth with the back of his hand. Geralt felt the chill of air against the matching spit across his chest.

“Well, now that we’re warmed up,” Jaskier said, standing up from the bed. He must’ve noticed Geralt’s eyes go wide at the notion that this was simply the beginning, as it made him laugh. Standing at the foot of the bed, Jaskier had the audacity to look put together, still fully clothed. His state of dress changed as he calmly unbuttoned his shirt and let it slip off his shoulders, but the composure wasn’t going anywhere.

If Geralt was haphazard while stripping, Jaskier was flippant. He pulled his horrendously tight pants down his legs in a manner that suggested he knew it was attractive, so why should he have to try? It was a detail that would normally make Geralt hate him. If he wasn’t tied up, he wouldn’t have been able to stop his hand from reaching down to touch himself.

Jaskier wasn’t wearing any underwear, now as naked as Geralt. While hot, it was also a bit gross. Those pants were  _ leather _ . He furrowed his eyebrows at Jaskier’s crotch, now distracted by the thought of how sweaty the other man must’ve been.

“What?” Jaskier asked, looking down at his own legs. Geralt cursed mentally, afraid he came across as judgmental accidentally. “Okay, yes, I’ll admit forgoing underwear might have been a mistake, they were starting to get a tad… swampy. But even briefs left annoying lines, it just ruins the picture. The picture being my ass of course.”

“What ass?” Geralt said.

Jaskier opened his mouth and raised his arms in offense. He looked like a disgruntled parakeet. “You are going to pay for that comment, mister. I’ll put your mouthy-ness to far better use.”

“Promises, promises,” Geralt muttered with a smirk. Bratting usually wasn’t his color when submissive. The appeal to him was the quiet of compliance, not the push and pull for power. With Jaskier, it was just too easy for Geralt’s everyday snark to seep out. This was fun.

Jaskier leaped back onto the bed landing with a bounce on all fours above Geralt. “I keep my promises,” Jaskier said before stealing a kiss. Pulling away he repositioned to be straddling Geralt’s face, the sight and smell of his clear arousal so close. Composure could not cover the response of Jaskier’s body, his dick hard and entrance wet.

“If it gets too much just put up two fingers and I’ll stop,” Jaskier said, wiggling to get more comfortable on his knees. “Show me?”

Geralt put up his fingers as directed and Jaskier smiled, stroking a hand down Geralt’s face in praise. With that established Jaskier wound his fingers into Geralt’s pulling his mouth onto his crotch. Sufficiently encouraged Geralt got to work, sucking gently at first to build Jaskier up to pleasure. He focused on Jaskier’s dick, swirling his tongue around it. Soon Jaskier took over control, thrusting against Geralt’s mouth.

The musician’s response was as bright as ever, arching his back and moaning loudly as he rocked forward in a persistent rhythm. One hand in Geralt’s hair tugged in time to the movement of Jaskier’s hips. The other performed a countermelody to the steady metronome of its counterpart, fingers dancing across the side of Geralt’s face and running through long white hair like water, never seeming to catch any tangles. The lyrics were of course Jaskier’s sounds, his bold moans and sweet words of praise telling Geralt just how good he felt.

It did not take long before Jaskier was close. The signs were obvious as the song lost its steady beat nearing the crescendo. Thrusting out of time, Jaskier panted above him and tightened the hand tugging on his locks. With a loud moan, Jaskier’s muscles seized and shook as he came. He lifted up involuntarily with the force of it but dragged Geralt’s face with him keeping his mouth against him through the aftershocks.

Breathing heavily, Jaskier lowered Geralt’s head back down to the pillow and shook his fingers loose from his hair. Shifting backward a bit he sat back on his heels, heavy on top of Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s own breathing was not much calmer, and his dick was still rock hard despite the lack of attention.

“Good,” Jaskier gasped, trying to swallow his pants in order to speak. “Very good. Fuck, you’re fun. You’re having fun, right?”

Geralt smiled at the enthusiasm. They both were enjoying this probably more than they should. “I am,” he replied.

“Good, good,” Jaskier mumbled, seemingly a little dazed from his orgasm. “In a minute, I’m going to fuck you, just need to wait until my legs stop tingling.”

Geralt used the moment to take Jaskier in. This was the first time they had been fully naked in front of each other, he realized. Through piecemeal he had probably encountered most inches of Jaskier’s body before, but now he had the full picture in front of him. The man was stunning not just for his features but the confidence by which he displayed them. Geralt tallied his favorite details, the freckles on Jaskier’s shoulders, the curve in his scars as they reached the side of his chest, the trail of hair leading into his belly button, the softness of his stomach that creased in on itself as he hunched over Geralt.

Lost in observation, Geralt barely noticed that Jaskier’s breathing had evened and he was pulling off of Geralt once again. Turning on the bed he swore to himself. He patted the folds of the fluffy comforter before lying on his stomach to hang his head off the edge of the mattress, reaching for something.

“Found it,” he exclaimed, brandishing a dildo in his fist with straps hanging off of it. He awkwardly flipped himself back around to sit criss-cross on the bed.

“It’s blue,” Geralt said plainly. That was an understatement as it was a swirling pattern of light and dark blues.

Jaskier glared at him but a smile still lingered on his face. “Don’t talk shit about my dick, he’s beautiful. He even vibrates for both of us if you behave.” It was clearly high quality just as the rope had been, six inches long with a respectable girth— the type of size that would satisfy a variety of people. Geralt continued to have it confirmed that sex was a constant in Jaskier’s life. That didn’t bother him per se, simply poked at the part of his brain that wanted this to be  _ special _ . It was a rarity in Geralt’s life, while just another Saturday for Jaskier.

He shook away his insecurities as Jaskier stood to slip the harness up his legs. Straps resting on his waist, Geralt’s breath stuttered. Jaskier was gorgeous in all iterations, but the easy dominance he emanated in that moment was ridiculously hot. The consistent arousal he had felt so far shifted to a  _ need _ to have Jaskier inside him as soon as possible.

Jaskier— noticing Geralt’s subtle squirming— moved quickly to grab lube and a condom from the nightstand. Up on the bed again, Jaskier poured lube onto his fingers and set to opening Geralt up for him. The first finger inside Geralt was intoxicating, slender and skilled musician’s hands plotting to take him apart.

“You look like you’ve seen a god,” Jaskier laughed, moving his finger in and out, brushing against the spot inside Geralt, but not yet with the force he really wanted.

“Fuck off,” Geralt said, squeezing his eyes shut at the sensations. His breathing was growing ragged as his body begged to move into the pleasure. The rope prevented him from doing much more than twitching his hips with each thrust, and even that was quickly stopped by Jaskier’s other hand pressing down on his hip.

By the time Jaskier had worked up to three fingers, Geralt could barely concentrate on anything. The other man was meticulous, making sure to stretch and tease Geralt as long as possible before moving forward. By now he was well prepared for Jaskier’s dick, but long fingers continued to pump in and out of him, now entirely avoiding his prostate.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunted, arms tugging where they were bound.

“Yes?” Jaskier replied, acting innocent. Clearly, he was loving this, happy to keep Geralt on edge for as long as he wanted.

“Please,” Geralt said, resigned to his own desperation.

Jaskier laughed. “I love getting you to beg. Fine, I’ll stop being mean.”

He pulled out his fingers, releasing a low whine from Geralt. Soon, they were replaced by the head of Jaskier’s dick pressing slowly inside of Geralt’s hole. The musician may have claimed he was done being mean, but that was a lie. He moved slowly inside of Geralt as if simply warming him up, despite being well aware Geralt was desperate to be fucked  _ hard _ . The slow pass of Jaskier’s cock against his sweet spot pulled a breathy moan from him.

“This is what you wanted, right?” Jaskier asked with a smirk. He was such a fucking bastard.

“More,” Geralt grunted.

“So needy.” Jaskier leaned down to give him a sweet kiss as if he wasn’t currently inside of Geralt. “This is because seeing you wrecked has got me all worked up, not just because you asked.” He reached down to where they were connected to press something on the side of his dick, causing it to come to life.

Geralt had never been fucked by a vibrating dick before. The sensation was overwhelming in the best way, making him shake with pleasure as Jaskier began to truly thrust into him. Added to the physical feeling was the view of Jaskier above him moaning as he worked his hips, seeking his own pleasure as much as Geralt’s. No snide comments would ever be made about the color choice again, Jaskier had an amazing dick.

With the sudden onslaught on sensation to his already sufficiently worked up body, Geralt felt himself hurtling towards the edge rapidly. He was panting, eyes blinking as he tried to keep them open for the view, but repeatedly found them closed. Jaskier knew how to be perfectly too much.

“Are you close?” Jaskier asked through his own deep breathing. Finally, that composure was seeping away like the sweat that matted his fringe to his forehead. Geralt nodded, unable to get words past his throat.

“Wait for me, I’m almost there.”

At that Geralt had to close his eyes, body tightening as he strove to keep himself under control for just a few moments longer. He just had to be good for Jaskier, wait until he said. His legs shook and his moans became louder, almost pained sounding.

Jaskier slowed his rhythm just slightly, leaning forward to hover his face above Geralt’s. A thumb stroked along Geralt’s cheek and he blinked open his eyes to meet Jaskier’s. There was a fondness in them Geralt didn’t know how to unpack. Instead, he leaned up for a kiss, asking for comfort as they both neared their climax.

With their lips attached Jaskier shook in the way Geralt had learned meant he was on edge. Moans were muffled into Geralt’s mouth as Jaskier came for the second time, thrusting rapidly inside of Geralt. Having been teased so much and close for so long it was mere seconds before Geralt followed, thrusts and vibrations forcing him to spill across their stomachs. His whole body tensed and twitched with the force of it as they were forced apart for their kiss to gasp for breath.

Quickly, Jaskier reached down to switch off the vibrations to prevent either of them from becoming overstimulated and slowly pulled out of Geralt. He collapsed against Geralt’s chest as they both breathed heavily, laughing to himself.

“Wow,” he said.

“Yeah,” Geralt said. At least Jaskier seemed to be as speechless as him for once.

Despite his two orgasms to Geralt’s one, Jaskier had barely paused to come down together before he sprang into action again. He stood up to slip off the harness from his waist, tossing it into the sink of the open ensuite. Returning to Geralt’s side he undid the knots holding him, humming softly as he unwound the rope and rubbed at Geralt’s wrists. 

Stretching out his arms Geralt, felt blissed out and sleepy, moving slowly like through molasses. He couldn’t be bothered to worry about the mess on his chest, he just wanted Jaskier to lay with him. The other man was persistent, however, grabbing a damp cloth from the bathroom to wipe them both down with. He climbed back up onto the bed to clean Geralt’s stomach, leaving a kiss on his hip when he was finished.

Finally free to express his desire, Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the shoulders before he could leave again, pulling the man up to lie against his chest. Not finished with his grab for power, he pulled Jaskier’s face to his for a kiss, a sweet thank you for the pleasure of the night. It lasted for a few minutes until Geralt was sufficiently satisfied and pulled away.

Jaskier was hastily braced on his elbows, hovering over Geralt with a stunned look on his face. Geralt snorted at the fool’s shock. If he was under the impression Geralt would be passive in bed one hundred percent of the time he was sorely mistaken. Preferences did not make a rule.

“Well, that was nice,” Jaskier said with a giggle. He leaned down to press a kiss to Geralt’s cheek. “I still need to grab us some water, though. And a snack maybe.” He hopped up off of Geralt's chest with more energy than Geralt could even fathom. The white-haired man felt like a bag of bricks he was so worn from their escapades, while Jaskier seemed as light as a feather. Must have still been riding the adrenaline.

Jaskier was almost out of the room when he turned back around. “Wait! It’s late, like nine maybe? It’s dark? We didn’t eat dinner; I didn’t even think of it. There’s a cute diner around the corner that’s open late if…”

Geralt blinked rapidly and tried to shift onto weakened arms to appear more awake. If Jaskier wanted to get food, that’d be fine. He was exhausted but pretending to be alert when inches from unconsciousness was one of his specialties. Going into public right now wasn’t his favorite idea, but Jaskier was kind to offer him a meal before sending him on his way. He went to open his mouth and say yes when he was interrupted.

“Actually, I’m tired, should we even bother? I’m not that hungry I could just raid the kitchen for something, does that work?” Geralt might have to study Jaskier for mind-reading abilities.

“Okay,” he said, feeling relieved. Not moving for a few more minutes was ideal.

Jaskier smiled before darting out of the room. He left the door open giving Geralt a sliver of a view into the kitchen. He watched as pale skin darted in and out of his line of vision, wandering around the kitchen. The sound of cabinets being opened and closed traveled as Jaskier searched for food. Geralt wasn’t surprised Jaskier was such an eager host, he just hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of such pleasantries.

After only a few minutes, Jaskier stumbled back into the room carrying far too many things. Both his hands held glasses of water in danger of spilling and his arms were laden with food. A carton of ice cream was tucked in his armpit with two spoons balanced on it precariously. Using his foot, he managed to kick the door closed. Once he reached the bed, he handed Geralt one of the cups, managing to drop all the food onto Geralt’s lap in the process.

“Sorry sorry,” Jaskier said with a laugh. He gathered everything up again to place in the center of the bed before walking around and hopping up next to Geralt. “So, I have trail mix, we can eat some of that for some protein. And cheese curls just because I wanted them. Then of course we need ice cream. I hope you like caramel.”

“A well-rounded meal,” Geralt said with amused snark. He took a sip of his water, finding himself parched after having sweat out plenty.

“Eat the damn trail mix,” Jaskier said, tossing the bag at him. Geralt laughed before obliging. Shifting to sit up against the pillows, he opened the bag and began to eat the nuts and granola mix.

Jaskier sat cross-legged next to him and embarked on the cheese curls that had already been opened previously. He still seemed far too perky post-coital. Geralt wondered if he did crazy amounts of cardio. Or maybe he just wasn’t human.

“You haven’t eaten a single raisin,” Jaskier observed.

“Yes, because raisins are the worst.”

“They’re fruit Geralt, it’s good for you.”

“Raisins aren’t fruit, they're the devil. Fascinating to get nutritional advice from the man currently eating processed cheese powder.” Geralt stared pointedly at where Jaskier was in the midst of licking dust off his fingers. If he had seen that an hour earlier, it probably would have turned him on; now it was just childishly endearing.

“I will not stand to be  _ attacked _ in my own  _ home _ ,” Jaskier said, poking Geralt in the stomach.

“You probably shouldn’t make it so easy then.”

Jaskier made an indignant squawk, only further proof he was like a parakeet. He was certainly as pretty as one. When Geralt laughed at him, he reached over and stole the bag of trail mix from Geralt’s hands, swapping it with the cheese curls. Placing the bag in his lap the man began eating solely raisins.

“Okay,” Geralt said, reaching into the bag to eat a cheese puff. He liked them better than peanuts and M&Ms anyway. Jaskier threw a raisin at his head like the child he was. Spurred into action, Geralt put aside the snack in his lap to reach for Jaskier’s bare feet, tickling them as the music professor shrieked, trying to pull away.

They ended up tangled together laughing, with a couple of loose snacks spilled onto the bed. Eventually, Jaskier broke out the ice cream and they passed it back and forth between each other taking spoonfuls. Jaskier talked about everything and nothing as Geralt mostly hummed in agreement, slipping back into sleepiness after the rollercoaster of a day.

“Stay,” Jaskier said, quieter than he had been speaking before. Geralt looked at him to see the musician staring at his own lap into the carton of ice cream.

“What?”

“Stay the night. You’re exhausted, I don’t want you to fall asleep on your way home or anything.”

Geralt tried to suppress his gut reaction to panic. This wasn’t how he expected the night to go. Jaskier was kind, he was simply worried about Geralt’s safety. It didn’t have to mean more than that so Geralt didn’t have to stress over it.

“Okay,” he mumbled, eyes returning to their droopy state. Jaskier’s returning smile was wide. He was immediately spurred on to continue the one-sided conversation he had been having before. Geralt shuffled to tuck his legs under the comforter of the bed and leaned back on the pillows, hoping his host wouldn’t be bothered by him getting comfortable. Geralt fell fast asleep in between blinks to the sound of Jaskier’s voice fluttering above him.

********

Geralt woke the next morning hyper-aware of the differences around him. He could hear the bustle of a city directly on top of him instead of a train ride away. The weight of the comforter on top of him was heavy and warm to the point Geralt could still feel the sweat he had worked up the night before. The pillow by his face smelled of Jaskier, his subtly masculine cologne and fresh laundry tinged by his natural sweat.

Geralt often wasn’t a fan of his senses, experiencing them as affronting rather than pleasant most of the time. The differences here were not grating, however. The noise was enough to wake him but didn’t drill under his skin. The pressure of heavy blankets left him feeling secure. Jaskier’s scents soothed him. Geralt had several times wished for anosmia to suddenly befall him and free him from the torture that is unpleasant smells. In this bed, he was glad magic didn’t exist.

Finally, Geralt opened his eyes to the same room from the night before now filled with the light of the sun high enough in the sky to know it was late morning. The other side of the bed was empty, blankets displaced. Reaching a hand over, the bed still felt warm.

Sitting up, he let out a low groan. His body ached pleasantly, a reminder of the ways it had been used the night before. Rolling his shoulders, he felt the stretch of his worn muscles send a warm flutter of lingering arousal through him. Last night had been good. Geralt was satisfied he could move on now feeling good. He wouldn’t let the small knot in his chest ruin this good mood.

Moving slowly around the room still groggy from sleep he gathered up his clothes where they had been discarded on the floor and put them back on. He was glad he had worn just a t-shirt and not a button-down, making his wrinkled state less obvious. Patting his pockets for his phone, wallet, and keys, he determined himself ready to leave, respecting it was time to get out of Jaskier’s hair.

He opened the door of the bedroom to be affronted with the sight of Jaskier dancing vivaciously in his kitchen. He appeared to be cooking, but far more energy was being put into his performance, shaking his hips and thrusting the spatula in his hand every which way. The music was some pop song Geralt could barely make out. The volume was low with Jaskier only mouthing along to the lyrics rather than belting them out as he often did in the museum to annoy Geralt. It was almost like for the first time in his life Jaskier had decided to be courteous, not wanting to wake him.

A twirl was added to the dance routine, Jaskier spinning on one foot like a subpar ballerina before nearly falling over in surprise. He had noticed Geralt paused outside his bedroom watching the spectacle. Jaskier collected himself back onto two feet, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Jaskier said, recovered from his shock. “Breakfast?” He gestured to the pan of eggs behind him and a plate of bacon already cooked sitting on the counter. “Oh shit.” He scrambled back to face the stove to keep his cooking from burning.

Geralt was still rooted by the bedroom door. This wasn’t how this was meant to go. He had done one night stands a couple of times, the routine was sex, sleep, then leave. Maybe he was offered a coffee he’d politely decline. Jaskier didn’t make any sense. If they didn’t like each other why was he being nice?

Geralt’s thoughts were interrupted by his stomach growling. The half-assed dinner the night before was catching up to him. He  _ was _ hungry and Jaskier had already cooked more food than one person could eat. It’d be rude to refuse, he concluded.

“Come sit,” Jaskier said, gesturing at the small table and chairs that bridged the kitchen and living area. “I’m almost done cooking. Do you want coffee? Or tea, you definitely either drink the grossest shitty black coffee or solely drink tea for the ‘natural’ caffeine, right? I have a fancy roast for my  _ refined _ palate, sorry, but it’s just plain black tea bags.”

Jaskier was spot on with the first assumption. Geralt had lived off of shitty library coffee that tasted like dirt all through his nine years of university. Geralt couldn’t seem to get any words to leave his throat, so he just shook his head.

“Alright, well there’s water on the table, drink that to rehydrate,” Jaskier said, tone softer but undeterred. “The coffee is brewed in the pot over there and mugs are here, so feel free to help yourself.”

Geralt wandered over slowly, feeling a bit like a prey animal prepared to be spooked at any minute. He sat in the wooden chair with a blue cushion. The color matched the little tiles that made up the backsplash. It was a nice kitchen for a small apartment. There were two settings at the table with white plates, silverware, and two cups of ice water. He took a sip from the one in front of him. The glass was damp from condensation telling him it had been sitting out for a few minutes.

Next to him, Jaskier stood just a few feet away, already back to dancing. It seemed he wasn’t put off by an audience, even starting to sing along now that he wasn’t trying to be quiet. Geralt wasn’t fully convinced towards music by any means, but he had to admit Jaskier’s voice was pleasant. It was smooth and sweet, covering the sharp edges of the irritating songs he decided to play.

Jaskier had once (completely unprompted) told Geralt about how he’d wanted to get a degree in vocal performance as well as music education, but having started testosterone in the midst of undergrad it was near impossible to keep up with vocal training when his voice was changing every month. He hadn’t seemed all that bothered by it, clearly happy with his job. Something about it now made Geralt’s blood boil that Jaskier had been restricted from sharing his sound.

“Ready!” Jaskier announced. He took the eggs off the stovetop to divvy them up between the two plates. Reaching back to the counter he swapped the pan for the plate of bacon and brought that over as well. Sitting down he smiled at Geralt who tried not to grimace and looked away.

“Oh, my coffee,” Jaskier said, hopping up again to grab it from next to the stove. Geralt picked up his fork and took a bite of the eggs. They were overcooked, feeling too solid in his mouth. He kept eating, hungry enough to ignore it.

Jaskier finally sat down and began eating with him, but was far from still. The man chatted through the meal about a whole host of subjects Geralt processed like a song you like the sound of but can never seem to hear the lyrics for. He made Geralt eat the extra piece of bacon and refilled both their waters. Geralt didn’t say a word and couldn’t get himself to look directly at Jaskier.

“I suppose you want to head home now, enjoy some quiet for the rest of your day,” Jaskier said, still smiling. Geralt breathed out some tension. This had been… nice, but he needed to return to normalcy. To be in his house without a whirlwind of a man who was obnoxious and irritating and kind.

Geralt stood up and took his dishes to the sink. He should offer to do the dishes or something as a thank you, but he just wanted to go home. He walked towards the door to leave and paused. They had had sex multiple times but now he had no clue how to say goodbye.

Jaskier solved it for him. “Goodbye darling, I had a lovely time.” He placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and went up a fraction on his toes to place a kiss on his cheek. Heat flooded Geralt’s face and the corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. Jaskier was confusing.

Geralt lifted a hand to give a small wave before fleeing out the door. He left the square building with square windows behind to return to the train he had taken last night but in the opposite direction, far more confused than he was before. Jaskier had changed Geralt’s routine before he had even noticed. He had no clue how he felt about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Leave comments if you like I've adored receiving and responding to the ones from the past chapters. You guys make me so excited about this fic again I appreciate it so much <3 Next update soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost in emotions as their relationship has morphed Geralt is dragged along on another one of Jaskier's harebrained adventures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! This one might be my favorite but I can't decide :P 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Geralt was not where he would normally spend his Wednesday nights. The bar was dark and louder than he preferred, but tolerable given it was the middle of the week. This was an important night after all. On the other side of the table they had claimed, Yennefer swayed in a small dance, smiling at her girlfriend. He loved his friends. He loved Yen and her power, never letting anyone or anything restrict her. Geralt felt restricted, but he couldn’t figure out what was holding him down, boxing him in. His real fear was that it might just be himself.

Geralt was a bit tipsy. They had found out this morning Yennefer’s grant had been approved, accompanied by groveling apologies from the funding board for their “unintentional appearance of harboring bias”. In response, she had dragged him to a gay bar in the city that they hadn’t been to in ages. It was reminiscent of their younger years, coming here as a couple with all of Yennefer’s friends. Geralt had always felt uncomfortable those times, caught up in fears about seeming “too straight” with his girlfriend, and spent most of their time sitting at a table in the corner with a drink while Yen danced.

Tonight, he wasn’t allowed to “brood”, apparently. Yennefer was determined to make this a good night, ordering them two rounds of shots right when they got there to start them off. Given his size alone, Geralt was far from a lightweight, but as he sipped his beer he could feel the liquor settling into his bones and lowering some of his inhibitions.

He pulled out his phone to open the text messages he had been staring at for three days now. Just as he had boarded the train on Sunday, Geralt had received a text from Jaskier. It stood now on his bright screen in the poorly lit room, the same words he had read dozens of times by now.

_ Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe? Had a lovely time plus the sex was great ;) _

Jaskier wrote as if the time and the sex were separate. As if the half-assed dinner, or spur of the moment breakfast, or even their fruitless time in the library had been the  _ point _ of it all and not merely obstacles on the way to the main event. Geralt had no clue what the point was for him.

Reading his own reply made Geralt want to bang his head against the high-top table in front of him. Just the two words “I’m good”, sent without thinking once he was home. What did that even mean? How did Jaskier take that; did it come off as rude? This was why he despised texting, a place where the horrors of decoding tone were exacerbated exponentially.

“Come dance with us, Geralt!” Triss said, stumbling into his space with a laugh. She leaned against his shoulder and he leaned back. Meeting Triss might have been the best thing that’s ever happened to Yennefer, and in turn made the top five events of Geralt’s life. The woman rounded out their sharp edges without trying to sand them down. She burst with love and kindness while being the only person Geralt had ever seen stare down Yennefer’s glare and win. Like a towering tree, she was bigger in spirit than most, providing sweet fruit for those she loved and burrowing her roots deep so they couldn’t risk pushing her over even if they tried.

Geralt wanted to look her in the eyes and tell her how she was a tree. Doubting he could properly convey any sort of meaning to it, he simply pulled her to him with an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She moved to make it a true hug easing a knot in his chest he hadn’t realized was so tight until then.

Pulling away to keep one arm around him, she began to tug him towards the dance floor populated only by a few college kids. Geralt just hoped they weren’t any of his students; he had a professionalism he wanted to maintain. Yennefer would say fuck that, they’re adults. Jaskier would probably spend a song dancing with his students.

Triss deposited him next to Yennefer, who had already wandered to the center of the floor, moving gracefully to the music with her eyes closed. Her elegance clashed with the pounding pop beat— more at home in an enchanted forest than a club on a Wednesday— but no one would argue with her. Hearing them arrive she opened her eyes to smile wide at Geralt.

“Put that away,” she nodded at the phone still in Geralt’s hand. He hastily slipped it into his back pocket, not wanting questions to sidetrack their night’s focus.

Dance was never innate in Geralt, his body was too clunky and stiff to find any sort of rhythm. Still, he made an effort, swaying to the song with no idea what to do with his arms. It only took a minute before Yen laughed at him, grabbing both his hands in hers. She began to twist them back and forth, alternating pushing and pulling his arms in time to the music around them. The motions forced him to loosen his body into the dorky dance.

Triss— who had been watching them as she danced with similar grace to Yen but with actual moves from this era— giggled at them both together. She stepped forward to leave a kiss on each of their cheeks respectively, bringing broader smiles to both of their faces. 

_ This is nice, _ Geralt thought. _ This is love. _

Yennefer dropped one of his hands and raised the other, pulling him into a twirl despite the height and bulk he had on her. He obeyed, only bumping into her slightly which he deemed a success. Once righted again, he went to return the favor. Yennefer twirled fast, making the skirt of her black dress flare. She flashed him a smile filled with kindness and none of the steel normally behind her teeth. Giggling next to them, Triss immediately butt in to grab Geralt’s hands, wanting her turn.

They continued for longer than they probably should have, and with  _ definitely  _ more drinks than was advisable for a school night. It was a time for celebration, living in that moment without a thought for the future or the past.

Geralt’s brain had never been great at living in the moment. He grew up staring at the path he had just come from, filled with regrets and worries that he had taken the wrong turns. It was a habit he had worked to break, aided by the job in front of him he loves, and by good friends that were the products of prior mistakes. Now, as he took a break from dancing, sitting at a table and staring at his ex-girlfriend slow dancing with the woman she loves, his thoughts journeyed to the future.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket again.

To Jaskier:

**Maybe music isn’t that bad**

Once it was sent Geralt regretted it. He was on his way to drunk, turning overly emotional and sentimental. His phone buzzed in his hand.

_ And how did you come to this astute observation? _

Geralt was overwhelmed by the smile that came to his face, pressing the top of his phone into his forehead to collect himself.

**Yennefer took me dancing. It’s fun**

_ Also, your singing is nice _ , he added to himself.

_ Out dancing on a Wednesday Dr Rivia you are out of control. What’s next sleeping with a coworker? _

Jaskier was so damn brazen. He always had words, too many words for one man. Maybe they were balanced, Geralt could give Jaskier the space he needed for all his words.

**I’m sorry I didn’t go to the museum**

And wasn’t that what he’d been trying to say the whole time? Address the elephant between them that Geralt had left Sunday without a word and couldn’t gather up the courage to return to the museum basement like normal. He had even taken the train on Tuesday but got out a stop early to turn around back home.

_ Geralt are you drunk? _

**A little.**

_ We should meet this Friday. I have a new idea for the project. _

**Okay**

_ Get home safe Geralt x _

Geralt paused with his phone in his hand, not wanting Jaskier to be gone so soon.

**I will**

**It was lovely**

_ What was? Dancing? _

**No. Our time**

Jaskier’s response took longer this time, the dots showing he was typing appearing and disappearing several times.

_ Good. Goodnight darling _

**Night**

Geralt suddenly felt drained in that way you do after reading a good book, where you feel so much you just have to sit in it for a while before moving on. He looked up to see Yennefer and Triss kissing softly, holding each other like they were the only two in the world. An ache pulled in Geralt’s chest, a  _ want _ he had never felt before.

*****

Standing on a street corner, Geralt picked at his fingernails while he waited. He performed a sort of box step around the sidewalk moving out of the way of people as they passed before stepping forward again to make sure he was visible. Scanning the street, he wondered what they could possibly be doing here. It was one of the tourist traps of the city, a road lined with restaurants and pointless stores filled with knickknacks, designed solely to waste time inside. Jaskier was two minutes late.

Looking down at his hands, Geralt saw one of his nails had started bleeding where a hangnail had pulled. He’d been trying to kick this stupid habit for years, but it never seemed to stick. Hearing a shout that sounded a lot like his name, he looked up to see Jaskier waving. The man was on the other side of the street waiting to cross, jogging over to him as soon as the sign switched.

“Sorry I’m late, bad habit,” Jaskier said, a little out of breath as if he’d been running.

“We all have them,” Geralt said. He tucked his bleeding hand into the pocket of his coat.

“True.” Jaskier always seemed to speak with a laugh. “Shall we go then?”

“I’d say yes if I knew where we were going.” Irritation slipped into Geralt’s voice revealing his fondness for secrecy.

“Try and appreciate the mystery, Geralt,” Jaskier said. He grabbed Geralt’s free hand and began pulling him down the street towards the line of shops. The point where their skin connected felt hot, spreading warmth through Geralt’s body. Stumbling along behind Jaskier, he unzipped his coat to let in the fall breeze. Halfway down the street, Jaskier stopped in front of an awning, dropping Geralt’s hand. The previous heat left quickly, leaving his fingers chilled by the air.

A wooden sign hung down in front of the store proclaiming it to be Conjunction of the Spheres Bookstore. Seemed a bit of a clunky name in Geralt’s opinion, but at least it was memorable. Big windows presented mountains of books in disarray, without any sort of display of new releases to entice the public. Instead, there were stacks of spines pressed against the glass, with leather-bound volumes on top of tiny paperbacks as if someone had placed them there simply because they had run out of space elsewhere.

“How will we ever find anything in that?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier reached over and pinched Geralt’s arm making him jump. “Stop thinking fucking logistics, just take it in.”

Geralt looked at the windows again. It was chaos. And beautiful.

“Come on,” Jaskier said. He walked up to the old oak door to enter this world of literature.

Once inside, Geralt was taken aback by the sheer quantity of the space. Bookshelves ran floor to ceiling and were scattered all across the room creating a maze. The lack of sightline over anything made the store feel endless as if he could get lost forever amongst those shelves. Where he could genuinely spend forever was in the stories those shelves held, busting at the seams with books of every kind. The genre labels taped to the sides of bookcases seemed more of a guideline than a rule, as he saw a cookbook in the horror section on his left. Plenty of books didn’t have homes, stacked on shelves or tables or even the floor. The scent reminded him of childhood, made him think of how as a kid he would have wanted to spend a lifetime amongst these pages that gave him a home.

“Do you like it?” Jaskier asked. He was looking at his feet, scuffing his converse against a knot in the wooden floor.

“I do,” Geralt answered honestly.  _ I love it _ , he thought.  _ More than I’ve loved any store _ .

“Great!” Jaskier perked up immediately. “Let me show you upstairs, it’s my favorite part.”

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hand yet again, weaving them through the sea of shelves with a confidence that displayed just how familiar the space was to him. They reached steep wooden stairs that didn’t even have a railing, just the wall on one side. Jaskier— after letting go of Geralt— darted up them two at a time, no hesitation in the face of the loud squeaks they omitted.

Upstairs was a replication of down below, but in what had clearly been intended as an attic. The ceiling was slanted and Geralt had to hunch slightly as to not brush against it with his head. Wrought iron lanterns were spaced out along the walls, casting the room in shadowy yellow light. Jaskier led him to the far corner where several beanbags sat, tucked away as if a secret. Here in this spot, it felt as though they were in a whole other world, free from the noise of the city and its people.

It surprised Geralt that Jaskier would seek out this type of place. The silence and solitude seemed so contrary to his being. A bookstore felt far more the space of the socially awkward history professor than an exuberant musician.

Jaskier plopped down into one of the beanbags and gestured for Geralt to join him. They sunk into the malleable fabric leaned against the wooden walls.

“I grew up in Cintra you know, just around the corner from here. Probably spent more time in this room than I did my house during high school, if that gives you an idea of my childhood.” Jaskier laughed to cover old wounds that hadn’t fully healed. “It’ll always be special to me.”

Geralt nodded, knowing a thing or two about difficult times. “Yen always says happy childhoods make for boring company.”

“I’m starting to think Yennefer is quite a smart woman.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Geralt said with a chuckle.

“What were you two celebrating anyway? Or do you usually partake in drunken dancing on Wednesday nights?” Geralt turned his head from Jaskier, embarrassed to remember his drunken texts.

“The history department rescinded their rejection of funding her research about disabled women in the 1800s after being asked nicely under the threat of lawsuit. Yen wanted to go dancing and you don’t tell her no.” Geralt smiled at the thought of his friend.

“Sounds like my type of woman,” Jaskier said. A bad feeling flared in Geralt’s stomach and he looked back at Jaskier’s face.

“She’s taken,” he said sharply.

Jaskier's eyes went wide before his brow furrowed. He looked down at his lap as if suddenly disheartened. “Oh… I didn’t realize…”

A lightbulb went off in Geralt’s head where he realized the misunderstanding. “By her girlfriend. Triss.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, looking to Geralt again. His lips twitched as if suppressing a grin. “I was about to yell at you about proper communication, I don’t want to abet cheating.”

“No, Yen and I broke up years ago,” Geralt reassured. It didn’t seem to help Jaskier, who in response brought a hand to rub at his temple as if Geralt was giving him a headache.

“Wait, so you  _ were _ dating?”

“Yeah, we met in grad school and dated for six years, I think. Loved each other, but were a terrible match as a couple. We fought way too much to be healthy and enabled each other’s bad habits. Plus, she wanted children and I didn’t.” The words were falling out of Geralt before he could second guess them, opening up in a way he never did.

“You don’t want kids?” Jaskier asked.

“Not biological ones. I was adopted when I was ten, so I’ve always known if I were to raise a kid, I’d adopt an older one. I also don’t like babies.”

“Don’t like babies? But they’re so precious,” Jaskier exclaimed. “I feasibly can’t have biological kids, as this thing is empty” he patted his lower stomach. “So, I agree I’d rather adopt an older kid truly in need of a home. Maybe even foster.”

An image appeared in Geralt’s mind of Jaskier taking troubled kids into his home. Giving them a safe space, filled with music and laughter. The man was skilled in making people feel comfortable without the pressure to express it. Or at least he had for Geralt, somehow.

“You’d be good at that,” he said. Jaskier’s eyes widened and he looked like he was going to cry. Instead, he threw himself onto Geralt to wrap him up in a hug. Stunned, Geralt’s arms were stiff and awkward around Jaskier’s back but he allowed the warmth of the hug to seep through him.

Pulling away, Jaskier subtly wiped at one of his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve had our bonding moment, I think it’s time to get to work.”

Geralt blinked, having forgotten why they were even there. “Right. Where to begin?”

“Leave that to me, darling,” Jaskier said, patting Geralt on the head.

He stood up from his beanbag using Geralt’s shoulder to brace himself and wandered into the rows of books. Geralt stood to follow, watching as Jaskier ran his hands along the spines they passed, scanning the rows methodically. It was a demonstration of calm patience unexpected of the restless man, who was so quick to tire of things. This place seemed to soothe his urgency, content to stroll rather than rapidly seek answers.

Attempting to mirror that energy, Geralt broke off from his companion down another aisle. He found himself at a bookcase labeled biographies, which no matter how many antiques the bookstore held wouldn’t lend clues to the era or fantasies of witchers. Frivolous as it may be, he read the titles in front of him, curious what selection this type of place might present. Familiar names leapt out at him— from Malcolm X to Nikola Tesla to Helen Keller— many clearly used or decades old. Reaching fingers out he touched each book he found that he had read, remembering each of them for how they opened his eyes to other lives. As a child, Geralt had always been fond of fantasy worlds that introduced him to places where anything was possible, but as he aged he fell into nonfiction to learn the truths of the society in front of him— it’s horrors but also its hope.

Intrigued by the possibility of rarities, he set himself a challenge to find the oldest text on this shelf. Scanning over several weathered and leather-bound books, he plucked out a plain black one about the size of a journal. It was in surprisingly fine condition, but it was bound in a manner that suggested it could be a couple hundred years old, plus its lack of any title markings was more common in early publishing.

It was plain and unremarkable but something about it seemed special. Geralt scoffed in the face of any sort of spiritualism, gave no mind to the energies of rocks or the planets or whatever other hogwash people used to explain why things happened. Books could be special though; they could change you.

He opened the front cover and nearly dropped the journal to the floor.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, loud enough to reverberate through the crowded space.

“Yes?” the musician replied from a few rows over. His footsteps sounded against creaking wood as he stepped amongst shelves to look for Geralt. Quickly, his head poked around the corner to find Geralt staring down at the book in his hands in a state of shock. “There you are. What on earth did you find? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Geralt, at a loss for words, simply held up the journal for the professor to see. There on the first page was a sketch done in ink with the telltale scratches and bleeding that indicated a quill. The page was yellowed and the black of the strokes had faded with age but there was no mistaking it; a wolf, a swallow, and a star all encased in a circle. This symbol which had thwarted them for weeks, stumbled upon by accident in a place it was never meant to be.

“Fuck,” Jaskier said. His face morphed in beautiful wonder that chipped at Geralt stunned stupor. With shaky hands he turned the page to see what the book entailed.

In the same ink by the same quill, there was a year written in the top right corner, a clear sign of a diary though without a day or month as if the author knew from the start entries would be inconsistent. The number itself, however, made Geralt scoff. Clearly this must be a forgery or more likely a fictional endeavor by someone committed to authenticity. No diary from 1249 would exist in such fine condition, sitting in a bookstore that seemed to see fewer visitors than Geralt’s own home. He had held books from that era in museums, taken them from their glass cases to touch their fragile pages with gloved fingers. This paper did not feel brittle in his hands, the spine held tight to every page, and moisture had not blurred the words written.

_ I fear my witcher may truly be an idiot _ , read the very first line. 

So, witchers returned in yet another text of questionable age and origin. Geralt was lost in the sea of this mystery, sick of the illogical fairytale it kept trying to weave despite his reluctance to follow it.

_ Ten years have passed since our first meeting, yet my affection grows stronger for him each day as though it need not be contained within this earthly realm.  _

Great. A poetic love story just in case there weren’t enough things that don’t make sense to Geralt.

_ I am but a humble bard doting after him like the stray I was doomed to be, singing his praises to all yet never mentioning how truly daft of a man he is.  _

The tale at least contained either a female bard or perhaps gay yearning, which would leave Geralt less weary than the heteronormative blandness of the swooning damsel over a knight killing monsters.

“Geralt, if you don’t let me see that this instant, I swear to the gods I won’t even  _ think _ about sleeping with you again.” 

Geralt startled where he stood to look at Jaskier who was bouncing on the soles of his feet.  _ Did that mean he was planning on sleeping with me again? _ Geralt thought.

Before he could worry himself with that, the diary was snatched from his hands into Jaskier’s greedy palms. The musician rushed over to the beanbags and plopped himself down, never looking up from the pages in front of him as he weaved through the room. Geralt joined him, sitting down silently to watch Jaskier read. The man was laser-focused as he flipped through the pages. He was fascinating to observe in a state of complete concentration Geralt was unaware was possible for him. Jaskier’s body seemed to curl around the book in his hands as if it was sucking him in, legs crossed and back hunched forward. The only movement to the normally hyperactive body was the bounce of one foot underneath his other knee and the slipping of fingers underneath pages, prepared to flip them before he had read even half the words on them.

Gazing at his face Geralt saw the corner of Jaskier’s lip was tucked between his teeth, a tell of his intense focus. Geralt had seen it before when Jaskier was intently searching for a specific source they had lost, or when he had teased Geralt for almost an hour once, learning how to run his fingers along Geralt’s cock and read his body to keep him perfectly on edge. Suddenly Geralt wanted to see Jaskier play one of his many instruments to see if the habit extended to all facets of concentration.

Jaskier’s eyes darted back and forth so rapidly it seemed unfathomable he was digesting everything he saw. Geralt remembered learning once that eyes don’t actually read words in the correct order. Instead, they bounce rapidly to and fro collecting all the words in your head to unscramble them back into a linear progression that makes sense. He wondered if his eyes would see the words of this book in the same order as Jaskier’s were right now.

Thirty minutes passed between them in silence. Geralt barely noticed the time passing, sufficiently entertained by Jaskier’s ever-shifting facial expressions as he read. A few times Jaskier breathed out a huff of air, the makings of a laugh he didn’t have time to complete. With each one, Geralt felt his heart rate stutter. At this point, Jaskier had already made it a quarter of the way through the journal.

“Fuck,” Jaskier said, closing his eyes for an extended period of time before blinking them rapidly. He shook his head like a dog after a bath, seeming like he was coming out of a trance. As he straightened out and pulled his shoulders back Geralt could hear several pops in his spine. “Do you have anything to use as a bookmark?”

Geralt searched through his pockets finding only a cough drop wrapper. He held it out to Jaskier with a shrug.

“Perfect,” Jaskier said, grabbing the wrapper from Geralt’s hand and tucking it in between the pages before slamming the book shut. “This has been lovely, and I am so excited to work on this with you, but also I need to go home right now and finish this whole diary maybe twice or my brain will explode.”

Geralt smiled at Jaskier. He knew that itch, the need to pour your entire being into something until either you soak it all up or it sucks up you. Maybe their eyes read words in a more similar order than he thought.

Geralt stood up from their quiet corner and held out a hand to pull Jaskier up with him. The musician rose with a bounce, the journal clutched tight in the hand not briefly clutched in Geralt’s. They made their way downstairs and Jaskier began walking towards the door before Geralt grabbed him by his collar to pull him back.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Geralt said.

“What?”

“You haven’t paid for that,” he said, staring pointedly at the book hanging by Jaskier’s side.

“Right, oops!” Jaskier turned to wander the maze of the first floor again, leading Geralt to the back of the store. At the back wall stood a large desk covered in still more books and an antique cash register that matched the anachronistic feeling of the rest of the shop. Jaskier pranced up and rang a little bell that sat on a stack of books of poetry.

As the echo of the bell faded, it was replaced with the sound of footsteps, the first sign of another human within these walls. A door behind the desk opened to reveal a woman, aged but in a manner where you were uncertain whether she was merely nearing old age or ancient without allowing the years to imprint on her face. She wore a flowing deep purple dress made of a sheer material, the sleeves draping down off her wrists. Her beauty was the type that made people smile when they saw her and her demeanor one that made them stand up straighter.

“Nenneke,” Jaskier exclaimed, spreading his arms wide in greeting. “It has been too long, I’m deeply sorry for my absence.”

“Whatever for, I finally found some peace in this place without you causing a racket,” Nenneke said. Her words were sharp, but her expression revealed a fondness traditionally gained from knowing Jaskier for longer than a week.

Jaskier staggered backward as if he had been dealt a blow to the chest, gasping. “You wound me, dear heart. To think I once considered you as kin more than that of my blood.”

“That’s not a steep competition, my rascal,” she said. Geralt decided he liked this woman. Anyone focused on keeping Jaskier humble was someone he wanted to know.

Jaskier lost his dramatics for a genuine smile. “It’s good to see you. I brought a… friend. This is Geralt.”

Not expecting to be introduced and certainly not expecting to be referenced as  _ friend _ Geralt could do naught but blink in greeting. The woman’s eyes landed on him, sizing him up as if gauging his value like the books on her shelf, before letting out an amused huff. She turned away from them to go about sorting some books on the table to her right. The endeavor seemed inconsequential given the lack of organization throughout the rest of the store, but she gave it her full focus.

“This isn’t just a companionable visit, I would like to purchase a book from you as well,” Jaskier continued.

“What is it this time?” she said without turning back around. “Let me guess, a book of French poetry despite you not knowing French. Or a Christian religious text you’ll never read but the cover is just too pretty. Or did you find more ancient Greek erotica?”

“That was one time! And you were the one who was selling it in the first place.” Jaskier’s indignancy directed towards someone other than Geralt was quite amusing.

“Dear, if you think I am aware of every piece of literature in this store you truly are a fool.”

“And if you think I have any doubts in my belief you have read ninety-five percent of the books in here, you’re sorely mistaken.”

At this, Nenneke turned back towards them, true amusement donning her face. “More like ninety percent. Only so many white men’s musings I can tolerate in one life.”

Jaskier stepped forward to the desk, holding out the journal to Nenneke. She took it from him, stroking her thumbs across the front cover like it was the face of a lover.

“I didn’t know that this had come back here,” she said more to herself than them. Turning it over in her hands Nenneke examined the black leather. One hand opened the front cover to reveal to her the elusive symbol that had started their whole journey. Quick as a strike of lightning Nenneke’s head jerked up to lock eyes with Geralt. Stunned by the raw intensity of this woman he was frozen in her gaze. Connected, they became conductors of her electricity; it passed through Geralt’s body and left with all his secrets.

After a moment, Nenneke released him with a smile, revealing the teeth of a friend not a predator. Deeply unsettled, Geralt looked down at his boots.

“So,” Jaskier started, always one to break the tension in a room. “How much for it do you think?”

Nenneke stroked tender fingers across the drawing in front of her. “Well, it’s quite old.”

Geralt doubted that was true given it certainly wasn’t authentic. He was surprised something so obvious as that could get past the bookstore owner. More likely, she made a habit of exaggeration to inflate the prices for untrained eyes. Not that Geralt was going to  _ argue _ with her though, he’d been around enough powerful women to know he’d lose in a heartbeat.

“And it’s filled with so much love,” she continued. Looking up she viewed Jaskier, then Geralt in turn. “But it belongs with you.” Her tone was not sweet but serious as if a warning.

“Nenneke, I need a price, dear heart,” Jaskier said, unrattled by the intensity stirring around him.

The woman huffed a laugh and the tension dropped to the floor like chains turned to water. She snapped the book shut and handed it back to Jaskier. “Forty dollars.”

Geralt blinked in surprise. It seemed his expectations of hiked prices were far off the mark, although perhaps Jaskier influenced her into giving them a discount. The man in question was attempting to fumble for his wallet, struggling with only one hand free to count what appeared to be a dozen one-dollar bills inside the smooth brown leather.

Quietly Geralt slipped his own wallet from his back pocket, plucking out two twenties. He handed Nenneke the bills while Jaskier was still distracted with his task. As the money passed between them she grabbed his hand to hold him there for a moment. Her eyes spoke a conversation to him he could not hear, but after a moment she nodded and let him go.

“Hey! Nenneke, give him his money back. I was meant to pay for it,” Jaskier said. He pulled out a wad of bills— most quite crumpled looking— and proceeded to drop his wallet onto the floor. “Fuck.”

“Too late, my rascal, the purchase is already made,” Nenneke said, slipping Geralt’s money into the cash register. “Perhaps you can repay your friend in some other way.”

Jaskier and Geralt looked at each other, both gaining a blush as their minds went to the same inappropriate places. To flee his embarrassment, Jaskier ducked down to pick up his wallet, placing the journal on the floor temporarily to haphazardly stuff his money back into the pocket. That explained how they all became crumpled.

Standing up with the journal, Jaskier wiped invisible dust off his knees. “This has been lovely but I’m afraid it’s time for us to go. Important things to read after all,” he said.

Nenneke gave him a true smile, revealing the deep affections she had for the man she knew as just a boy. “Goodbye dear. Come visit me for real soon, this place misses your noise.”

Jaskier walked around the desk to give the old woman a hug, reassuring he would return soon. With a wave, he turned to walk to the exit with Geralt padding behind him.

Back on the street, Geralt blinked as if adjusting to the midday sun despite the pink sky indicating it was setting. The two of them were now plunged back into reality, facing the noise and bustle of traffic and people after the liminal quiet of the Conjunction of the Spheres.

“I can see why you like that place,” Geralt said to Jaskier.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Jaskier said, beginning to walk down the road. “Early on I would just spend hours there reading, but after I sufficiently charmed my way onto Nenneke’s good side I would bring my guitar and play for her.”

“So you could get back on her bad side?” Geralt snarked.

Jaskier hit him lightly on the shoulder. “You haven’t even heard me play before, you ass.”

“No, I haven’t,” Geralt agreed.

“Maybe,” Jaskier started, voice hesitant. “Maybe I could play for you sometime.”

“Hm.” Geralt thought he might like that.

“Oh, here’s my station,” Jaskier said, pointing to the stairs that led down to his train. It was not one that would take Geralt where he needed to go; he had blindly followed Jaskier here without thinking.

Jaskier stopped walking and turned to face Geralt. They were caught together in a bubble, close enough to be breathing each other’s air.

“Thank you for coming today,” Jaskier said.

“It was… nice,” Geralt said. His heart was beating fast. Sex wasn’t on the table today as Jaskier had a book to read, so why was there this feeling of anticipation?

“Geralt…,” Jaskier said. The fingers of his free hand rubbed together like he was worrying a stone between them. “I-I’ll let you know what I find out. From the journal.”

Geralt nodded.

“We can meet up again. Discuss it.”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier’s eyes seemed to dart around Geralt’s face before dropping to look at his shoes. He kicked an acorn sitting by his foot and watched as it rolled into the street.

“Well, goodbye then,” Jaskier said. He took a step back, breaking their bubble.

“Goodbye,” Geralt said. He watched as the man gave a little wave before walking towards the train entrance. Jaskier grabbed the post of the railing and spun himself around it to start his quick pace down the stairs. Something tugged in Geralt’s chest, like a string that was attached to Jaskier was being pulled as he pranced away.

****

Back home, Geralt got started on making dinner for himself. The day had been long- his morning classes seemed like a lifetime ago- but there was a restlessness in him that chased away any weariness. Needing an outlet, he decided to cook a full-fledged meal for himself rather than scrounging as he often did on weeknights. Although he wasn’t the most adventurous chef, sticking mostly to simple flavors, he considered himself reasonably competent in the kitchen.

Prepping his ingredients, Geralt pondered the events of earlier. That bookshop had been so strange, belonging more to dreams than reality. To stumble upon the sole other iteration of a medieval symbol in a wasteland of scattered texts seemed preposterous. Geralt’s cynical nature made him question whether it was truly a baffling coincidence or some scheme Jaskier had stirred up after growing bored of their studiousness. While he had no doubts to the extent which Jaskier’s dramatic nature would go, crafting an elaborate scavenger hunt simply to amuse himself seemed like more effort than Jaskier would have the attention span for. Besides, the man had been nowhere near Geralt when he found the diary.

Nenneke only added to the mystery of it all. Something about the way she looked at Geralt left him feeling unsettled. It was as if she had slipped through a crack in his walls he had no idea was even there to peel back his skin and see him raw. Geralt wasn’t used to people understanding him. The whole reason Yennefer had started dating him all those years ago was due to him being one of the first people she needed to put effort into to figure out, her cunning eyes unable to suss out his inner conflicts at a first glance.

Nenneke looked at him like she already knew his story from start to finish, like she had read his novel before but couldn’t spoil the ending. She looked at Jaskier like he was her son. Geralt wondered if Jaskier truly had believed they would find a piece of their puzzle at Conjunction of the Spheres, or if he simply wanted an excuse to visit. Clearly, the place was a sanctuary for him, a domain of poetry and passion hidden from the world of the unfeeling. This music professor had begun to gain multitudes, making it very hard for Geralt to cling to the original visage of a pompous man unqualified for his work.

Just as Geralt was placing the potatoes and salmon into the oven, he heard his phone buzz over on the other counter. He rinsed the oil and seasoning from his hands, drying them on the cloth thrown over his shoulder before stepping over to the phone.

From Jaskier:

_ Geralt I am 99 percent sure this diary is gay _

_ 100 PERCENT THERE'S AN ENTRY ABOUT DICK SUCKING _

_ It truly is fascinating I cannot wait for you to read this so we can discuss it. The prose? The historical context? The conundrum of fantasy elements tied to historical pieces becoming only further muddled? The found family???? _

_ He just made such a beautiful dick metaphor I am in love with this author he is a true genius _

_ I have zero apologies for spamming you with every single one of my thoughts I don’t know if I have ever been more hyperfocused on something in my life I think my skin is made of beetles _

Geralt watched as the texts flowed in one after another, unperturbed by a lack of response. It hadn’t even been an hour since Geralt had seen him, yet Jaskier had already built up so many  _ words _ . A smile bloomed on Geralt’s face.

**Beetles?**

_ It’s what I FEEL Dr Rivia. Not the point! Gay diary from the thirteenth century!! _

Geralt huffed out a laugh into his quiet kitchen. Roach hopped up from her bed to investigate him, licking the hand that wasn’t holding his phone, probably because it smelt of food. He scratched behind her ears without looking down.

**You know that book isn’t actually that old right? It’s another fake like your monster one**

_ Ye of little faith! I trust Nenneke with my life and heart and mind if she says its old its old as balls _

**Eloquent. You should take up poetry**

_ As a matter of fact I am simply a poet of the musical nature I’m practically always composing a song _

This was news to Geralt although it shouldn’t be surprising, the man  _ was _ a music professor. Whenever he thought of Jaskier singing or playing it was always his heart on top of someone else’s words, but to see him perform a song of his own creations sounded so… revealing. Of course this man who flaunted his thoughts so openly would strip his heart into song for all the world to hear.

**Hm**

_ You can’t do your avoidant grunting over text you fucking mule _

**Hm**

In response, Jaskier sent him a photo of his middle finger raised in front of a spectacular pout that made Geralt laugh loud enough it echoed through his house.

**Don’t you have a book to read?**

_ Oh shit yeah gn darling love you _

_ Fuck fuck shit force of habit gotta go bye!!! _

Jaskier was a whirlwind. He moved so fast and made mistakes, so different from the careful calculated steps Geralt trained himself to take. He loved so freely it was a habit he couldn’t break. Geralt wondered what it would be like to feel like that. A small part of him wondered what it must be like to be on the receiving end of that type of love.

Behind him the oven beeped, warning that his dinner was ready. In his distraction he had forgotten to make a glaze, meaning his salmon would be bland. Normally that was what he sought in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> As a note, my characterization of Nenneke isn't very rooted in cannon so apologies for anyone who felt it was off. I have only read the first of the witcher books with her and never played the games so the way I pictured her is /very/ different from the game design I have since seen.
> 
> Leave comments if you like they fill me with delight and I love responding to them! The response I've gotten for this fic so far has been so lovely and meant so much to me <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt begin to understand more about the mysterious journal they have found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! It is a shorter one but very special to me. Enjoy :D

Geralt woke up the next day to another series of texts from Jaskier that had been sent between the hours of two and four in the morning, growing more and more incoherent. It seemed unlikely the man had gotten any sleep, given he had finished the journal only to start in on it again immediately. Only the final text held any clear meaning to Geralt.

_Meet me at the starbucks down the street from the library at 11 today I will need inordinate amounts of caffeine and your full attention_

Looking at the clock he saw it was half past eight, giving him plenty of time to get ready and make his way to the coffee shop in question. Normally he spent most of his weekend mornings at the gym, but he figured this was a matter of great importance. Altering his schedule one day wouldn’t hurt anyone.

**Okay**

As Geralt went about his morning routine his reply stayed unread by Jaskier each time he checked. There was a not insignificant chance the music professor had finally passed out from exhaustion and was going to sleep right through the meeting he had arranged. Geralt checked the message one last time before boarding his train, slipping the phone into his back pocket.

Geralt was blinking at the bright sun as he stepped out of the underground when he felt a buzz in his pocket.

_I will be late!_

Jaskier was always so direct despite his lyricism. He told rather than asked. He never groveled with apologies, unabashed in the realities of himself. The trait reminded him of Yennefer even though outside of that the two of them could not be more different. Jaskier’s tongue was sugar sweet while Yen’s burnt like fire, yet they both weaved their own destinies with their words. Maybe Geralt had a type.

Entering the building populated with college students on laptops and interns with crooked ties, Geralt made his way to a table in the corner. He sat at the booth, purposely giving himself a view of the door. Checking his phone, it was only five of eleven, meaning it was a good twenty minutes until he could anticipate the frantic entrance of Jaskier. Geralt opened his bag sitting on the bench beside him, pulling out a book to pass the time.

The words on the pages in front of him held his attention until he heard a commotion and a familiar voice apologizing profusely. Geralt looked up to see Jaskier by the door helping right a man he clearly had just barreled into. The fact none of the coffees in the stranger’s hand had spilled in the collision was a small miracle.

With the disaster averted, Jaskier scanned the quaint coffee shop like Geralt was in a Where's Waldo picture. The man did everything with such ferocity it was obnoxious. It did _not_ make Geralt’s lips twitch in a smile. Once he spotted unmistakable white hair, Jaskier’s face morphed into a grin and he waved across the expansive ten-foot gap between them.

Scurrying over to him, Jaskier plopped down across from Geralt with a huff. His normally immaculate appearance was looking worse for wear, with tousled hair and wrinkled clothes Geralt knew were the same ones from the day before. The bags underneath his eyes didn’t manage to dim the sparkle within them.

“Hello Geralt, what’s that you’re reading there?” Jaskier said, pointing to the book in front of Geralt. One hand swiped at a hair that had fallen into his eye. Seconds later it fell right back down. Geralt’s fingers itched to run through those brown strands, to put them back into order.

“A book,” he replied.

“Nope, not even your grouchiness can bring me down today; this is a no negativity space. We solved the fucking mystery, Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice was loud enough to draw attention to their table Geralt had chosen specifically to be out of people’s eyelines.

“Before we begin, I need a coffee, even though they don’t even work on me. What do you w—" Jaskier was interrupted by his own yawn as if the mention of caffeine had reminded his body to be tired. Using both hands Jaskier rubbed at his eyes, likely trying to rid himself of the itchiness that came with true exhaustion.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Geralt asked.

“Hard to say. I did technically wake up about twenty minutes ago, but I was still sitting up, so sleep is a loose term.” They met eyes for a second, but for once in his life Geralt was not the one to look away first. The sleepiness fled from Jaskier as his standard antsy energy returned, his fingers tapping on the table.

“Just a black coffee,” Geralt resigned.

Jaskier’s mouth twitched in a bright smile before he hopped up to get in line. Geralt tried to return to his book for the brief wait but found himself distracted. His eyes continued to slip away from the words towards Jaskier. The man was rocking softly back and forth like he was on a boat of his own creation while he stared up at the menu. Geralt’s new goal was to keep this meeting brief, so he could force the musician to go home and take a nap.

Once Jaskier had received their drink orders— effectively charming the teenage barista in the process— Geralt turned away, not wanting to be caught staring. He looked up again when a paper cup was placed in front of him, slipping his book back into his bag to give Jaskier his full attention. The cup in Jaskier’s hand was twice as big as Geralt’s, with sharpie spanning the length of it to label all the ingredients it contained. Inside was probably a shockwave of sweetness that would make Geralt gag. He wondered if the flavor would permeate his tongue amidst a kiss or if it would dilute enough to be bearable.

They sat in a silence that confused Geralt. Jaskier's face screamed of whirring thoughts behind sleepy eyes. Since when did Jaskier think _inside_ his head?

“The diary?” Geralt prompted.

“Right!” Jaskier startled. He dug into his bag to pull out the familiar black journal, now swollen with a rainbow of post-it notes stuck to almost every page. “I’ve read it three times now and…”

Jaskier looked away again to watch the passing of strangers outside the large windows beside them. Geralt could tell Jaskier was bouncing his foot against the table leg, as it made the coffee in his cup rock. He took a sip, pleased by the bitterness and warmth on his tongue.

“Hm?” Geralt hummed to get Jaskier attention again. Jaskier turned back to the table and took a long sip of his drink.

“Sorry just… tired,” Jaskier sounded lost for a moment before he snapped back into his enthusiasm. “Anyway, the journal. It’s definitely the missing piece we’ve been looking for; it tells the whole story! Our symbol, it represents the writer’s family—or well not by blood but… still family, family doesn’t have to be blood. But this, this bard he made the symbol and then it’s—his boyfriend? Partner? Lover? The witcher, he commissioned the psaltery, or well the bard thinks the cub probably had the idea just, fuck where is it…”

Jaskier’s speech was erratic as he began flipping through the book in front of him for whatever detail he sought. For a lyricist, Geralt was amazed by Jaskier’s inability to articulate meaning when he spoke. Or perhaps songwriting allowed him to hone his skills in incomprehensibility.

“Here!” Jaskier said, turning the diary towards Geralt and pointing at the page repetitively. Three sticky-notes of different colors covered the majority of the writing, one of which merely had FUCK scrawled across it, while the other two had notes in tiny atrocious handwriting Geralt had no hopes of decoding. Carefully, he peeled them off the yellowed paper to read the entry.

_My darling witcher has surprised me yet again with one of his gifts. Decades together and my heart still flutters like a yearning chick knowing the once so closed man leaves his soul bare for me in his little acts of service. My flippancy towards the treasures he acquires could shatter the fragile softness he has worked so long to piece back together within himself. Good then that even the inanest gifts from him seem like heavenly riches if only from having passed through his fingers. He is my Midas turning broken seashells and objectively ugly boots to the gold of his eyes. Today on what has been deemed our true anniversary amongst too many significant days to count he gave me the sweetest gift of all; music. A gorgeous psaltery—an instrument I have not played since my Oxenfurt days—which is not only kind but at last a clear admittance of his love for my playing despite his boorish protests. In all likelihood, the idea came from our little swallow (who is rapidly becoming not so little I fear) but the sentiment still exists. Besides I know my wolf, he was the mastermind of the engraving in the center that made the tears already welling in my eyes fall. To have my three dear hearts encapsulated forever in the wood of my music, my spirit is a detail only he could have the love to envision._

The single page scratched in ink- almost as messy as Jaskier’s notes- sent Geralt’s head whirling. The details lined up too perfectly, it just couldn’t be real. Was this whole thing a trick? A test? An elaborate prank by a history nerd with too much time on their hands? None of it explained the psaltery that had been authenticated and dated to be real. To believe this mint condition text in his hands was ancient was absurd, and the further implication that a role such as a witcher existed even merely in the fantasy labels of a rambling bard was preposterous.

“What do you think, Geralt?” Jaskier asked. Geralt stopped his wild pondering to see Jaskier’s face. His expression was… tentative? Some vague emotion that did not fit his standard exuberance.

“I don’t know how this could be real,” Geralt said.

“How can you say it’s not real, it’s right there!” Jaskier said. His offended tone didn’t contain his usual drama, no arm sweeping gestures or gasps.

“Well the book is obviously faked, you know that. You wouldn’t put sticky notes on seven-hundred-year-old paper Jaskier.”

“You don’t know that I wouldn’t,” Jaskier said, crossing his arms and turning away again.

“Be reasonable here, it’s a neat story but nothing more than that. A story.”

“Fuck you Geralt. You always think you know better; you never trust me on anything. You haven’t even read the fucking journal but somehow, you’re the supreme intellect. Maybe for once in your life you could consider there are things outside of your understanding.” Jaskier's voice turned harsh and Geralt could see his eyes go wet. The musician turned up to stare at the lights to keep his tears from falling.

Geralt didn’t understand where all of this was coming from. He had never been good with feelings, and here Jaskier was overflowing with them. Work was always the one place he managed not to upset people and now he had managed to fuck that up too. Seeing Jaskier on the edge of tears made Geralt’s chest _ache_ with guilt.

“I’ll read the journal,” Geralt said, hoping those were the right words.

“Take the stupid thing,” Jaskier said, pushing the diary across the table harshly. It would have fallen off the other end if Geralt hadn’t been there to catch it. A single sob was ripped from Jaskier’s throat and he buried his face into his hands, going quiet. They sat in silence for a moment, Geralt lost in a sea of concern and confusion.

Finally, Jaskier lifted his head, eyes reddened and a single tear tracing down his cheek. Instinctually Geralt reached for him, placing a hand face-up on the table in an invitation he had never made a habit of before. Jaskier smiled softly and blinked a second tear to drip down his nose. A shaky calloused hand fell into Geralt’s larger palm. He could feel the dampness of tears on Jaskier’s fingers.

“I’m sorry, I get so emotional when I’m tired. Just please read it carefully. Don’t be flippant about it. It's like Nenneke said, I think this belongs with us.”

“I- I do trust you,” Geralt said. Jaskier squeezed his hand tight in response and gave another smile turned sad by the wetness of his cheeks. Suddenly, the warmth between their two palms disappeared as Jaskier pulled away to wipe at his eyes.

“I should go get some rest. Read the book and- and call me when you have an answer.” Jaskier stood up quickly, grabbing his bag and leaving the shop before Geralt could think of saying goodbye.

An answer to what? Geralt opened the front cover of the journal to see the very first note stuck above the drawing. Squinting to read the words it said _witcher=wolf cub=swallow sorceress=star_. Around it, Jaskier had attempted to draw a heart that turned out wonky and asymmetrical. Jaskier got so attached to things. Geralt spent the first years of his life training to never grow attached to anything.

Geralt snapped the book shut and placed it in his bag. As he was about to drain his coffee, he noticed Jaskier had left his own behind in his haste. Intrigued, he slid the large cup still half full over to himself. Taking a small sip of the drink Geralt scowled at the sweetness, but when he washed it down with his own coffee it wasn’t so bad.

*********

The rest of Geralt’s Saturday was spent on his couch, reading a story he wanted to insist made no sense. The wording was flamboyant and riddled with excessive metaphor; the story was overzealous and foolish with tales of monsters and love too strong to be realistic. Geralt had never been one for romances. Love was hard work, to understand and stand by one another. It didn’t fit neatly into sweeping declarations between practical strangers.

The standard flaws of heterosexual love at first sight weren’t the tale within this diary, though. The bard’s passion was scalding hot like the clichés, but he tamed his flames with patient dedication as to not eat up his lover. Even through the poet’s eyes, they made an odd couple.

_My witcher and I should not fit. At a glance, we appear to belong to two separate worlds, me a lavish party filled with earthly delights and him a cavern barren of pleasures. Witchers are strong while bards are fragile, wolves hunt while poets are the prey for heartache. Our facades are lies and we have begun to peel back each other’s shells to peer at the most delicate truths inside. My core is darker than his, filled with my clever manipulations and lack of hope the tide of evil in this world can be turned without them. His sweet center shines through the holes the world stabs into his armor, spills out in his blood he lets fall protecting the creatures of this continent which deserve it. I have been selfish from birth as nobility is intended, though I have learned to weave it with my love to knit a blanket of safety around that which I care for. My dear wolf is my opposite in his shell and his soul. Yet last night we fit together so perfectly, aligning like chainmail welded together, never to be torn even by the strongest of blades. I entered him as he lay vulnerable beneath me for the first time and I knew then-- come whatever heartache or injury-- I would love him for the rest of my life._

The documentation of what could be presumed to be the couple’s first time happened apparently a decade into knowing each other, strange pacing for a fabricated idealized love story. Their triumphant coupling was also only the beginning of their journey apparently, as Geralt continued to learn this witcher character was a deeply flawed man.

_Jealousy is unfamiliar in my blood. My experiences have led me to the belief that another’s interest in my current love can simply mean another bedfellow for me. I have not turned prudish nor do I deny the sight of the two of them together was highly pleasing on the eyes. Still, my chest flares and my ears ring each word she says to me, knowing he is letting her peek at the light inside him while he turns his back on me. A decade with a discerning man like myself should have taught that witcher better than to try and run from his love for me. I see it in his eyes when I take him apart on my fingers, I read it on his face when I sing for him in the light of a campfire, I feel it in the tiniest tremble of his hands when he bandages my wounds I acquire while defending him. The sorceress swooped in and did in a day what took me a decade. That’s a lie, I know what words I could have said back in Posada to get the white wolf into my bed. Instead, I was a foolhardy young bard for once seeking adventure over a lover. My wolf will be the greatest adventure of my life even if she may be the greatest love of his. She will break his heart- her claws too sharp for his fragile insides- and I will be there to stitch him back together._

_I always believed my witcher would find his way through his darkness. He has been lost in the night of his past for so long he turns away from the sunrise. I have tried so desperately to guide him through the forest, wanting to be the hands that slip off his blindfold and expose him to the beauty that still lingers in this world. My wolf has been caged so long he forgets he has teeth unless he sinks them into our flesh to prove that we’ll bleed for him. His scars although deep and aching are not enough to justify standing by him while I go woozy from blood loss. I cried my way down the mountain but now on level ground my tears have dried. I may be destined to love him forever but as of now, he receives only my pity._

Geralt could see himself in the witcher. When you are afraid the people you love will leave you, better to rip apart any ties that begin to form rather than wait for them to be cut. His saviors had been those too stubborn to allow him to flee. Vesemir had watched his outbursts as a kid and given him the love and security he knew they were secretly crying for. Yennefer had looked at his scars to compare them to her own, each pushing as hard as they could until they realized the bond between them would always be too strong to break. That and a whole lot of therapy led him to a place where his first instinct wasn’t to run, but without it he had no instinct at all.

_Family has never meant anything to me. The childhood of a noble is monthly feasts ringing with scathing critiques interspersed amongst deathly silences. I walked the stone hallways of our “small” castle knowing my destiny was to rot away in identical hallways without a single genuine soul amongst my mourners, with the only goal in life being acquiring a larger castle. I couldn’t flee fast enough first to Oxenfurt and then to the world. I sought sincerity, encountering it rarely amidst the games of all levels of the social order. I never once thought to long for family. A witcher in a gloomy corner with criticism and coin for a shit bard was the greatest sincerity I was ever going to find. My wolf longs not for titles, nor prestige no matter how well I could provide him with it. He scoffs at niceties and his kindness feels like standing on the sun. He returned to me with genuine apologies that soothed my burns and the greatest gift one could ever hope for. Our child sleeps between us beneath my watchful gaze. When he found me, his eyes told of a month’s journey without rest, forever fearful to remove his golden gaze from our little lion cub for a second. Now he sleeps soundly, trusting my vigilance in caring for a girl I met mere weeks ago but would give my life for in a heartbeat._

This was what Jaskier meant by family, it seemed. Two struggling lovers and a child fleeing from the past together. Geralt could see the appeal.

_Each morning I now wake with a soft bed underneath me and the warm gaze of my wolf over me. Often his battle-worn hands will be carding through my hair or tracing up my spine, no longer afraid that if he touches me I will turn to smoke in his fingers. I blink awake and he tells me he loves me not just with his eyes but his words and his mouth which freely explores my body without hesitation. We are unconventional lovers on all levels from our bedroom proclivities, to the deep dedication of our hearts as two men, to our current residence in my witcher’s ex-lover’s home. The sorceress is the sole person suited to train and protect our cub and for that, I can forgive all grievances. In fact, the sorceress has proved herself quite the enjoyable drinking partner as of late, now that she and my wolf have established themselves as a fleeting romance turned tactical friendship. I keep encouraging a rendezvous where I might implement my vision onto their intimacy for my viewing pleasure but have been met with a cuff round the head from both parties. They are fools to think this is in any way discouraging me. After all, the sorceress and I are discovering the countless similarities between us, one of which being a ferocious persistence until we get what we want. Another of course is a penchant for a certain sexual activity that produces the most beautiful song from my witcher._

The diary was consistently as lewd as private thoughts should be, although the narrator did not give the impression his lewdness is restricted to his writings. It was a peculiar ending to a dramatic love triangle, a happy pairing and a platonic connection growing slowly familial. It reminded Geralt again of himself, made him think of Yennefer who was more his family now than when they were dating. The thought of Yen and Jaskier discussing him in bed, however, was horrifying. He wondered how the witcher felt about it when he discovered them drunk together.

The pages passed and with them so did the years dated at the top. The family unit grew together in front of Geralt’s eyes, surviving the horrors threatening them and holding each other together with love. The cub became a strong swallow, a fierce warrior of magic and sword and wits like the three of her new parents combined. The sorceress flitted in and out of view claiming the world as her own, while always having a home in them. The bard and witcher wound around each other like two trees grown together, two entities now inseparable due to the solidification of time. They traveled, and killed monsters, and fought, and fucked, and fell more in love within the pages of this journal. The end of the book eventually came, with an illogical date at the top having spanned far past the standard human lifespan six decades back.

_I remember the day you told me witchers only retire when they slow and die. It was the day I professed my allegiance to you just to hear the responding grunt; it was the day you tied yourself to the winds of destiny, setting a new fate for the lone white wolf. It was the day I started this diary to write only the most important things. I knew that day would be too important to write in the middle of a songbook on any normal parchment. Our story is one of a repeated collision course. We found each other against all odds on this continent, time and time again from a rumor of a white-haired witcher or a flashy bard the next town over. Perhaps destiny intervened in our story too. I know you are still a stubborn man who scorns destiny as poppycock despite its nimble fingers having played with your strings repeatedly. Maybe now you will at least believe in the power of love. I know I do. You transformed me from a foolish boy awash in puppy love but doubtful of longevity to a man felled by the weight of his own caring. Today we sit in our cottage on the coast and I hear the sea sing to me. My hands have grown weak, fingers no longer nimble enough to pluck the strings of my lute but we both know I will hum 'til my last breath. That time may not be far but there is no fear within me. Early on our years would pass in a flash, the striving speed of youth and adventure and new love. The joy of age is the slowness of it all, as my restless wanderlust has settled to contentment. You witchers of course can still out-slow us all. Enjoy your years to come my darling. Spend them with our family we’ve created or make it even larger. Know I am with you in the songs you hear on the streets, in the flowers you see in the fields. I love you my wolf through this lifetime and into the next._

The entry was a goodbye, the first one written directly to the wolf. Geralt blinked away tears as he felt the bard fade into a memory between two covers. He turned the page expecting the rest to be blank but was shocked by a final script in a distinctly different handwriting. He was further shocked by the first word that stared back at him.

_Jaskier_

_I do not have your skill with prose. I miss you. You have been gone two years now. Our family is well, though they worry for me too often. I tried to stay in retirement for you, but I became too restless. I am sorry, our house was filled with too many memories I could not stay stuck in. It still is ours; I visit it often. The hunt is tiresome without your racket. I miss your blithering nonsense and ability to turn the most wretched kills into epics. I see your flowers, I hear your songs. People are kinder these days to witchers or perhaps my face strikes less fear than before. You softened my glare with your love, I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that. You were right that I still doubt destiny despite how it shaped my path. Fuck destiny, I believe in you. A witcher punched you in the gut and you followed him for the rest of your life. Every good thing I have lived through has had your hands in it. I will love you to the end of my days, bard, and if you say there will be another lifetime, I believe you and will love you then too._

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you had already sensed a reincarnation au!! I know it's probably a different place than you expected to end up from a professors au where they fuck in chapter one but hey it was a surprise to me too while I was writing it lol 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed me pouring out all of my cannonverse feelings! Leave comments below if you like they're lovely and I love chatting with you guys :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of revelations, Geralt and Jaskier figure out what they are to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is here! Just a short epilogue left after this :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone sticking with this story so far, hope you enjoy!

The sound that woke him Monday morning was not Geralt’s usual alarm but the ringing of a phone call he promptly ignored. He left the phone in his bedroom while he went about getting ready for the gym, as to not have to look at the piling of messages and missed calls on the screen. He debated leaving it at home altogether but resigned himself to the fact that that would be a poor decision, instead slipping it into the deepest pocket of his bag.

A blanket of haziness wrapped around Geralt as he went about his day, trying hard to push away the thoughts and feelings that left him spiraling in confusion. He lifted weights entirely numb to the burn in his muscles; he turned the gym shower as hot as it could go but barely felt the temperature scorching his skin. Like a zombie, he taught his morning class with zero energy in his lecture about counterubanisation. Purposefully he had put his hair up in a bun to prevent it from drying, the occasional cold drip onto the back of his neck giving him a sensation to focus on.

Lunch with Yennefer was when it all came to head. They met at their usual place, a café on campus with outdoor dining most people found too cold in the late fall, giving them privacy in the cool air. She took one look at him and sighed, grabbing his hand as she sat down next to him. They sat for a few minutes in silence as she helped ground him, squeezing Geralt’s hand and lightly digging her fingernails into his skin as something to latch on to. With a few long blinks, he felt more aware than he had in two days.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you now?” Yennefer asked. Her tone was transparent about her irritation but her hand was still warm in his. Geralt took a deep breath in and sighed it out, feeling a burn behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Yennefer nodded at him and stroked a thumb along the back of his hand. “What for, exactly?”

“I should have told you. Jaskier… we had sex.” That was a massive oversimplification, but the thought of explaining all the intricacies of their disaster made him want to shut down again.

“Unsurprising,” Yennefer said. “And now you’re falling in love with him, which is causing you to panic in thirty million directions at once, so you’ve had the brilliant idea to just ignore it instead.”

Geralt huffed out air in a modicum of laughter, a fraction of tension easing from between his shoulder blades. “Pretty much.”

“I don’t know the whole story—which you will be telling me very soon—but I do know you. You have a good heart encased in your stubbornness; you wouldn’t choose someone who isn’t important. Who knows if it won’t go to shit, but better to live through that than to sit here wondering. Don’t let fear live your life for you. You deserve everything from this world, but it won’t hand itself to you.” Yennefer’s words were blunt and real, sharp enough to cut through the ties holding Geralt back in his corner.

“We still barely know each other,” he reasoned. 

“Then  _ get  _ to know him,” she sighed. “Geralt we dated for a year before you told me about your childhood. There are many reasons why we didn’t work, but our mutual inability to be vulnerable certainly was one of them. Being with Triss has proven to me that showing someone all your dark shit- it doesn’t fix it- but you can make it a lot farther if you let them carry a bit of your burden sometimes.”

Geralt nodded slowly to himself, staring down at the table. It hadn’t been difficult to notice the lack of strain in Yen’s shoulders recently. She had more stretch before she snapped; she took breaks rather than muscling through the pain. It was a sigh of relief for Geralt to see his closest friend take care of herself now. Was Yennefer still waiting on him to do the same?

Progress was not another person; they both knew that. They hadn’t been the solution to one another, and Jaskier wouldn’t fill all of Geralt’s holes. Those holes had been shrinking through the years though, tended to by Geralt and the family around him. Another set of hands, ones doused in music and possibly magic, couldn’t be a hindrance.

He looked up to catch lilac eyes before darting away. “Thank you.”

“Good luck,” she said, lifting his hand to leave a soft kiss against his knuckles.

******

**Come to 48 Posada Dr tomorrow at 6 pm**

The text sat below a series of concerns and inquiries Geralt hadn’t been able to bring himself to read fully, barely managing to type the request with shaking fingers. After it had sent, he had left his phone in his bedside drawer, dreading any reply that would come through. Now, though a half-hour prior to the intended meeting time, he risked a glance just to know whether he was stressing simply to be blown off. It seemed he had everything to be worried about.

_ Okay I’ll be there _

_ Should I bring my notes? Or do you like wine? _

_ Geralt? _

_ I’m leaving my place now. Be there soon! _

The last text was from just two minutes prior. It didn’t take that long to get to his house, which meant for once in his life Jaskier was going to be early. Geralt cursed under his breath and turned back to the stove. There was no way dinner would be ready in time.

Fifteen minutes of frantic cooking later, the doorbell rang. Geralt took a deep breath, trying to settle his pulse. He turned off the burner that had been cooking the vegetables and walked to the door.

Swinging it open he was met with Jaskier facing towards the street, foot bouncing as he stared at cars driving past. Hearing the door move he startled, turning towards Geralt with a too-wide grin on his face.

“Geralt! I brought wine,” he said, brandishing a bottle in his hand. “And my notes too, if this is a… more professional venture.”

Geralt had no response to that, so he simply stepped to the side, leaving space for Jaskier to slip past him into his home. The second Jaskier entered, Roach decided to wander over to investigate. She was far from an effective guard dog, remaining quite docile most times, but she required a thorough screening process of every guest. Jaskier, it seemed, would pass with flying colors as the second he saw her he beamed before dropping to his knees to pet her.

“Hello darling! You are beautiful, you know that? Such a lovely girl!” Jaskier’s voice turned cartoonish as he talked to the large dog. Roach— her head being in line with Jaskier’s due to her height and his position—had easy access to begin licking all over his face. Unlike most people, who would shy away from exorbitant amounts of dog slobber, Jaskier seemed to relish in it, still scratching behind her ears.

“Thank you for the kisses, love- bleh, not  _ in _ the mouth preferably, I am a gentleman after all.”

Geralt snorted above them. Jaskier turned with a glare that fizzled quickly into something Geralt couldn’t decode. They felt  _ different _ together now, on shaky ground from which they no longer were stable enough to throw their stones. Geralt held out a hand to help the other man up from the floor.

Once he was standing Geralt walked through the entryway and living room, hoping Jaskier would follow him into the kitchen. He returned to the stove to check on his food, only to hear a small gasp behind him.

“You’re making dinner?” Jaskier asked. Geralt focused on stirring the pasta so he wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Yes. It would have been done but you’re early.”

“Oh, am I?” Jaskier said, worry in his voice. “I didn’t even notice. I’m really bad with time and new places. Either ten minutes early or late, never right on.”

“Hm,” Geralt replied. He took the mixed vegetables out of their pan and poured them into a ceramic dish. “Put these on the table,” he said, handing it to Jaskier and pointing him in the right direction. The house was on the small side, as all city living was, so rather than a separate dining room there was just a set of table and chairs against the far wall.

“What are you making?” Jaskier asked after completing his task. He was leaned against the counter a few feet from Geralt, one arm pressed against the marble to hold his body at a steep angle. For once he was dressed down in an olive green t-shirt and black jeans, both cuffed at the ends. It was incredibly distracting.

“Chicken parm and pasta,” Geralt said, just as a beeping signaled the chicken was ready. Grabbing a potholder from a drawer, he pulled the dish out of the oven. Immediately after placing it on the stovetop, he turned off the burner underneath the pasta, moving to pour it out into the colander already prepared in the sink. Glancing at the clock he saw it was five minutes until six; his timing would have been perfect had it not been for Jaskier’s unpredictability.

They existed in silence as Geralt prepared the dishes on the table, leaving him hyperaware that this night was different from all the others filled with Jaskier’s jabbering. Geralt sat in his chair as Jaskier mirrored him, now across from each other at a table laden with a meal Geralt had spent the hour prior making. His thoughts flickered back to the first time they sat at a table together in a museum basement riddled with more and less tension simultaneously. Gone were the days he could convince himself he felt only hatred for the music professor. Yet ahead the path was blurry, containing trials he had never passed before, so why would now be different?

Jaskier, sensing Geralt’s brief paralysis within his thoughts began scooping himself a plate. Once he was finished, Geralt did the same only to stare at the chicken in front of him, the thought of eating it uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Geralt, the food is—” Jaskier began before Geralt interrupted him.

“Tell me about your parents.” It wasn’t anything like the monologue he had practiced in the mirror earlier, but fuck it Geralt need to start this somehow.

Jaskier blinked at him, fork held up on its way to his mouth. “Why?”

Geralt groaned and rubbed his face with his hand. “I… I’m not good at this. Yennefer told me— she said it took me a year to tell her about my childhood. And she didn’t tell me hers until way later… you don’t have to I just—”

Geralt forced himself to look at Jaskier's face and saw the other man biting back a grin so wide it was almost inappropriate. Was Geralt fucking this up that bad?

“You want to tell me about your childhood? Because you want us… to be like you and Yennefer were?” Jaskier had put down his fork and was now tapping the tips of his fingers with his thumb on one hand, from his pointer to pinkie and back in sequence.

“I want us to be  _ better _ than Yen and I were,” Geralt said. He looked back at his plate feeling the vulnerability of the words rush through him.

“Good. Okay good, great, yes.” Jaskier laughed, startling Geralt to look at the smile now free to prance across his face. The light of it pried Geralt’s own lips, downturned with worry, up into fondness. Being in Jaskier’s presence was like lounging outside on a sunny day. It felt so  _ nice, _ but he couldn’t stop worrying he was going to get burnt.

As Geralt was choking on the words lodged in his throat that he couldn’t quite let out, Jaskier picked his fork back up and began eating. Back to his brand of normal, Jaskier hummed while he chewed his food, only pausing to swallow.

“So, my parents, lovely people. I hate their guts,” Jaskier said cheerfully. “Wonderful chicken, by the way, if this is the type of cooking you do on a regular basis, I’m staying here forever.”

Geralt flushed at the compliment and its implications. He picked up his own silverware and methodically began cutting his food into small bites.

“Anyways, I come from the traditional semi-rich family who take too many vacations and don’t give a shit about their kids. My father is businessman scum profiting off of human rights violations, and my mother is his perfect little housewife whose jobs include making their house look like a magazine catalog and being evil in secret.” Jaskier spoke it all with flippancy, waving his fork around to gesture as he continued eating.

“Hm,” Geralt said, lost on how to reply.

“Why is she evil, you ask? Well, to start, it’s pretty rude to tell a child since birth you never really wanted him in the first place. Then when said child comes out as trans, the preferable response is understanding rather than suddenly becoming radically transphobic and using financial manipulation to make sure your son never actually presents as your son in front of other people so as to maintain your ‘image’.”

Through the story, Jaskier’s tone became tinged with anger but he maintained a light humor. It reminded Geralt of Lambert, his adoptive brother always cracking jokes about his shitty birth parents. Geralt had never been able to work that angle, to gain the power of laughter over his past.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said. He hated whenever people apologized to him for things they had no hand in.

Jaskier shot him a soft smile. He reached across the table to grab Geralt’s hand in his. Instead of just holding it, Jaskier began playing with Geralt’s fingers, sharing his motion with Geralt’s skin. “I’m just thankful I was queer enough to never have a fear of becoming like them.”

“You turned out far better.” He stilled Jaskier’s hand for a moment in his to run a thumb across the back of it. The act seemed to slow all of Jaskier’s energy, his shoulders relaxing into his chair.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said quietly. “That’s why the bookstore is so important to me. Kept me from the standard path of a sad rich kid falling into party drugs to feel things. I could have been really cool in high school, you know?”

Geralt gave him a doubtful look. Jaskier tapped the back of his hand in offense before entwining their fingers again after.

“I am  _ very _ good at being popular, you dick. I’m a lot worse at finding good people who I give a shit about. And who give a shit about me.” Jaskier’s voice trailed off. That was very familiar to Geralt, minus the popularity piece. It surprised him that even with all his charm, Jaskier still struggled with the same problems as him.

“I wasn’t cool in high school,” Geralt said.

“The history textbooks didn’t get you all the chicks?” Geralt narrowed his eyes at Jaskier, making the man laugh. Maybe there was something to laughter making the weight lighter.

“I told you I was adopted,” Geralt started. Jaskier nodded encouragingly. They both could tell when Geralt’s palms began to sweat. “I was born into the foster system, zero records of my birth parents. When you grow up in the system, there are a lot fewer eyes on you all the time, differences go unnoticed or explained away. I was too different in some ways and not different enough. I didn’t talk much when very young, but for a foster kid that just makes you easy. The difficulties came with my meltdowns. I couldn’t be around other kids or in loud places or be forced to eat things I didn’t like without breaking down. Looking back, it’s obvious, but when you can function at a level that appears ‘typical’ in society, most of the time autism just marks you as the weird kid. I got passed around from home to home when people got sick of me, never getting a diagnosis or any resources that I needed for years, so I just thought the problem was me.”

Geralt took a breath to steady himself. He felt a squeeze around his hand and his eyes flicked up to see Jaskier listening calmly, no judgment across his face.

“Vesemir saved me. He ran a foster home for troubled kids. He took me in when I was nine, which was meant to be just another temporary thing, but he was the first adult who actually  _ noticed  _ me. When I had meltdowns, he didn’t punish me; he noticed what was causing them and helped me avoid becoming overstimulated. He got me diagnosed with autism after two months together and from then on, I became terrified of the day he would get rid of me. Vesemir found the one way to assuage my fear was to commit to never leaving me, so I was adopted within the year. A year later he adopted my older brother Eskel and then Lambert came when I was fifteen.”

“You have brothers?” Jaskier asked. Geralt couldn’t help the shocked laugh that burst from him.

“That’s what you have questions about?”

“I am very familiar with the world of undiagnosed neurodivergence. I was a straight C student except for art and music in school and was known by everyone in my year as the loud kid who fell out of chairs, yet my parents refused to have me tested for ADHD so I wouldn’t disgrace their genetic lineage. While I would love to learn more about your journey with that, I am also very interested in the brothers who likely have embarrassing stories about you as a teenager.”

“Oh,” he said. Now that he knew, it was unsurprising to learn they both weren’t neurotypical. Geralt had been noticing Jaskier’s assortment of stims throughout knowing each other. And staying on task while working had not been the musician’s strong suit, though Geralt had placed that at least partially on sexual tension.

“Cheers,” Jaskier said, lifting the glass of wine from the bottle he had brought that neither of them had touched. Geralt raised his own in his unoccupied hand. “To shitty adults and similar disorders.” They tapped glasses together and each took a sip. Jaskier’s light attitude made Geralt feel bubbles in his chest like he was sipping champagne instead of semi cheap wine he hated the taste of.

“I didn’t talk about high school,” Geralt realized. He got so caught up in his early story he never reached his point about feeling isolated in his teens.

“There’s no rush darling. I appreciate you opening up, I know it’s not that easy for you. We can take our time with this; I want to learn about you inside and out. I don’t mind however long that takes.”

Geralt felt a wave of emotions hit him, making tears well in his eyes as the weight of  _ this  _ settled on him. It was heavy but not uncomfortable, like a weighted blanket pressing around him to make him feel safe. He was overcome with the urge to kiss Jaskier, irrationally angry at the table between them. Standing suddenly and stepping to the side, he used their attached hands to tug Jaskier out of his seat as well and into his arms.

Jaskier let out a breath from colliding into Geralt’s chest, his free hand finding a place to rest on Geralt's hip. There were so many words Geralt wanted to share with this man, whose face he cradled in his free palm. Apologies and desires and declarations swarmed inside of him, but at a loss for speech he hoped his actions could convey a fraction of his intention.

He leaned in to kiss Jaskier delicately, treating his lips like fine china. All his life Geralt’s hands had felt big and clumsy, better at hitting or breaking things rather than building. Now they held a precious thing, a person Geralt so desperately hoped he wouldn’t crack. As if having heard his fears, Jaskier replied by deepening the kiss, pressing his force against Geralt to remind him he wasn’t made of glass. Jaskier’s exterior may have been as pretty as porcelain, but he had a core of steel unshaken by Geralt’s clumsy fingers.

They stayed entwined together for many long minutes before Jaskier pulled away for air. The musician was flushed red, more than he had been in the throes of sexual passion. The muscles of Geralt’s face seemed frozen in a smile rather than his ever-present glowering.

“You didn’t eat your dinner,” Jaskier said, glancing towards the table where their meal had gone cold. Neither made a move to exit their casual embrace to sit back down.

“You’re more important,” Geralt replied. The tint of blush on Jaskier’s cheeks which had begun to fade returned in full force.

“Who knew Dr. Rivia, professor of bitchy-ness, is an absolute sap,” Jaskier proclaimed. His natural hand gesturing moved Geralt’s as well where their fingers were interlaced.

A stab of guilt ran through Geralt as he reflected on the initial impression he had left on Jaskier. “I’m sorry I was a dick to you. You have more than shown you deserve your position; I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with our- our project without you.” Geralt stuttered at the reminder of the looming questions of mystery above them.

“Thank you.” Jaskier stroked a thumb along the bone of Geralt’s hip. “I knew it was just a rivalry because you were insecure, but I appreciate the apology because you definitely were a dick,” Jaskier said teasingly. He placed a quick kiss to Geralt’s lips to soften the harshness of his words.

Geralt chuckled with a nod. “I was. You’re a smart man and far more discerning than I am, to recognize my insecurity before I did.”

“Keep the compliments coming. I'm hoping to double my ego by the end of the month.” Jaskier’s smile was so bright and close Geralt couldn’t stop himself from stealing it away with a kiss. Which led to more kisses filled with the same sweetness, turning sloppier as Jaskier’s tongue began to explore Geralt’s mouth.

The two were enraptured with each other, swirling in romance and the beginnings of lust that pulled a moan from Jaskier’s throat. They likely would have devolved right there in the kitchen if not for the interruption of a wet nose poking at their hands. Roach had come over from the living room to investigate the noise.

“Roach, fuck off,” Geralt said eyes still closed and only pulling an inch away from Jaskier’s mouth. He went to fall back into the kiss but was paused by a hand on his chest.

“Hey, don’t be mean to Roachie,” Jaskier said. He dropped their tied hands to pat the inquisitive dog. Geralt stood, mourning the loss of constant contact they had been engaged in. All for his dumb dog he loved so fucking much, but who had terrible timing. Glancing down he watched as Jaskier crouched to coo at Roach as she sniffed at his face with her massive snout. The sight made his heart flutter.

“She’s a magnificent girl, isn’t she,” Jaskier said, turning up at Geralt. “So sweet and docile once she gets some attention. A bit like her owner.”

Geralt felt the heat of a blush rush to his cheeks. He couldn’t recall ever being referred to as sweet before. “She’s very well trained. I love her a lot,” Geralt said, deflecting.

Jaskier nodded and gave Roach a last scratch behind the ear. Using Geralt’s hand still hanging by his side, Jaskier pulled himself up, but kept a tight hold around it even after he was standing. He lifted their joined hands and began fiddling with Geralt’s fingers, something Geralt expected would become routine.

“If we’ve officially abandoned dinner, perhaps we should move on to—"

“If you are about to refer to sex as ‘dessert’, be warned I will kick you in the shin,” Geralt said.

Jaskier laughed and lifted Geralt’s hand up to his lips to place a kiss against his knuckles. “Alright, I won’t then. Do you want to fuck me?”

The blunt statement punched the air out of Geralt’s lungs. This night was one of impossibility in Geralt’s doubtful mind, filled with emotions he had never expected to be reciprocated. Jaskier was here in his grasp when he had from the beginning been labeled as fleeting. To experience each other’s bodies in a way they hadn’t before, in the wake of romantic revelations might just overwhelm him.

“Yes,” Geralt replied. He tugged Jaskier to the stairs immediately, pulling the musician along as he giggled. Traveling up to the second floor, Geralt stumbled over a step. He would have fallen if not for the hands that were quick to steady his waist. A laugh punched out of Jaskier, and Geralt’s face flamed with embarrassment.

“Careful,” Jaskier said in a soft voice. He stepped past Geralt and linked their hands again, now taking the lead. Somehow, despite his unfamiliarity with the house, Jaskier found the bedroom door first try and pushed it open, welcoming Geralt into his own place.

Decoration had never been Geralt’s strong suit, so when he had moved into his first house the plan had been finding the beauty in simplicity. Here, the polished hardwood of the rest of the rooms shifted to a soft gray carpet, perfect against Geralt’s bare feet on cold mornings. White paint covered the walls, markedly a default setting rather than chosen with intention as in Jaskier’s place. Despite his interests in art, Geralt had never gotten around to purchasing any simply to hang up and promptly forget about. The only thing that stood out at all amongst muted furniture was the dark blue bedspread, chosen because Yen had called him “an emo teen” when his first choice was black.

“It’s not much,” Geralt said.

“It feels like you,” Jaskier said. He pulled Geralt into a soft kiss that convinced him the words were intended as a compliment.

Their mouths moved together as they stumbled blindly to the bed. Knees knocking and tongues sloppy, Geralt felt like they were teenagers in the throes of infatuated first love. While probably familiar to Jaskier and his bold heart, it was a false nostalgia for Geralt, whose only high school love affair was with his own mental health crises. The utter  _ normalcy _ of the moment resonated through his chest, making him giddy.

Sufficiently enthused, Geralt broke the make-out session to push Jaskier down onto his bed. The musician was already ruffled looking, lips shining and face flushed. Geralt decided the best place to start undressing him was his shoes, tugging off the brown suede boots to reveal bright mismatched socks. While pulling those off as well, Jaskier’s legs twitched, hinting he was very ticklish. That was knowledge Geralt would store for another time when there weren’t more pressing matters.

“Come here,” Jaskier said, making grabby hands in Geralt’s direction. Distracted from his task, Geralt climbed up the bed to straddle Jaskier’s waist. Quickly, he was pulled down into a kiss that shifted to Jaskier kissing along his jawline. Lips trailed along his skin and warm breath heated Geralt’s throat as Jaskier began rocking his hips up against him. Geralt responded in turn, lining up their crotches to amplify the teasing friction felt through the layers of denim between them. 

Jaskier was addictive beneath him, soft moans leaving his mouth with every other breath and a flush running from his face down to the sliver of his chest exposed by the v of his shirt. His pulse raced underneath Geralt’s hand cupping his throat. In all their times together, Geralt couldn’t remember seeing Jaskier so wrecked. Sure, he reveled in pleasure, throwing himself into the fits of passion, but always with decorum and control. Often it was a necessary and fucking attractive feature of his dominant persona, making Geralt feel desperate and submissive while Jaskier stood above him barely affected. Tonight, though, was different. 

It might have been the longest Jaskier hadn’t talked during sex without his mouth occupied, no orders to give or soliloquies of praise to deliver. As Geralt moved in to nip along Jaskier’s neck, embracing the urge to stake his claim, the only sounds from Jaskier were whimpers and gasps. It was almost starting to feel unnatural. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Geralt asked.

“Excuse me if I’m simply basking in the moment. To know you care for me, just as I for you…” Jaskier paused to close his eyes and moan. Geralt circled his hips, enforcing an intoxicating tease with their friction rather than the desperate rutting that Jaskier seemed to itch for. They were still far from their goal, wouldn’t want to end too soon. 

“Do you have a kink for romance?” Geralt said. He poked fun but his heart fluttered just the same at the reminder they were doing this  _ for real _ . The reality of their budding relationship was still setting in with all the joy, excitement, and fear. In truth, he hadn’t dared believe this would turn out the way he hoped, so he hadn’t taken much time to digest the emotions around it. Now was the time to live in the joy of it at least, he figured.

“Don’t joke, I have no shame in it. It’s not every day a man as beautiful as you cooks me dinner before sweeping me off my feet. You can excuse me if I get a little hot and bothered.” Jaskier spoke between bated breaths.

Geralt traced a hand down Jaskier’s body, running along his cotton-covered side before moving to cup the front of his crotch. Jaskier released a gasping moan as he ground down into Geralt’s hand. The rub of rough cloth was probably near painful against his sensitive arousal. The thought spurred Geralt into action, pulling away to divest Jaskier of his jeans. He pulled them and the boxers underneath down Jaskier’s legs, reveling in the sight they revealed.

Jaskier’s thighs were muscular with a curve of softness on the inside right where the skin was the most sensitive. Taking in their beauty, Geralt couldn’t help himself from leaning down to nip at them. From the way Jaskier twitched, Geralt knew he had guessed right on the sensitive spots. He soothed the sharp pain with the tracing of his tongue, before sucking hard enough to leave marks. He had found yet another spot on this beautiful body to claim, to write in pleasure his own “Geralt was here” sign. 

There were still so many uncertainties between them that neither of them wanted to face at that moment, but no matter how fleeting, at least Geralt knew in this one way he would linger in Jaskier’s life. If given the chance, he would make these marks over and over again to extend his impact with the slow fade of bruises. He left them to match the mark Jaskier had left on his heart; one that even if they never met again after today would take years or decades or even lifetimes to fade back to the way it was before. Geralt hoped Jaskier shared his desire to go over his mark to make sure it sticks.

“Geralt, darling, if you don’t get your mouth on me within the next minute, I might start screaming and that just isn’t a good look. Screaming before you’re even inside me, think of what the neighbors would think.” 

Jaskier’s hands weaved their way into Geralt’s hair as further encouragement. Geralt, as obedient as ever, got right to work. He lapped up the wetness that had been seeping from Jaskier’s hole before teasing at Jaskier’s dick. The flesh beneath his tongue was swollen with arousal and the lightest of touches made Jaskier squirm and moan. If sensitive was his default, tonight it seemed he was on fire.

Geralt paused his ministrations. He placed his hands on Jaskier's waist, rucking up his shirt to above his belly button. “Do you want an orgasm now, or do you want to wait until I fuck you?”

“If you make me wait, I think I’d probably come the second you pushed inside me. Now please, thank you.” Jaskier used his grip to tug Geralt right back in.

When given a task, Geralt was always persistent and efficient. Sex was no different as he worked Jaskier with his mouth, sucking at his dick and intermittently trailing his tongue down around his hole, as he had discovered the musician liked.

“So beautiful. Your mouth is amazing. I should write a poem about it. The absolute splendor- fuck!” Jaskier pet one hand down the back of Geralt’s head, switching between a flat palm and the raking of nails against Geralt’s scalp. His hips twitched and shifted, never still in the wake of his pleasure. Geralt wanted to do this forever, to learn how to play Jaskier’s body like the man did the guitar, plucking his strings into the prettiest chords of his moans. 

“Want you, can’t wait to feel you inside me, to thrust into me with your beautiful cock. Your cock is so beautiful, it’s just unfair,” Jaskier rambled above him. Geralt chuckled against Jaskier’s heated skin, making the man moan.

The hands in his hair tightened, pulling Geralt tight to Jaskier’s dick. He sucked obediently as Jaskier began thrusting into him, clearly close. Panting and shaking, Jaskier tumbled over the edge with a shout. The orgasm took him over, leg shifting of their own volition, toes curling up. Underneath his fingers, Geralt felt Jaskier’s stomach muscles spasm with the force of it. 

“Fuck, darling, you can do that to me whenever you want. Genuinely, I would let you get on your knees in the middle of the street if you asked,” Jaskier babbled through pants.

Geralt tugged himself up to rest his head on Jaskier’s stomach, looking up at blue eyes. “We really need to have a talk about your exhibitionist streak.”

“I’m not the one who initiated our first time in my public office. With the door  _ open, _ might I add.” 

“You wanted to have sex in the library,” Geralt quipped back. Underneath his head, he could feel Jaskier’s pulse slowing as his body calmed.

“I was going to suggest the bathrooms, that’s barely public.” Jaskier waved a hand through the air lazily, before dropping it to the bed as if the action exhausted him.

“Your flawed perceptions merely reinforces my conclusion you’re a raging exhibitionist.”

Jaskier laughed and placed a hand into Geralt’s hair. He carded his fingers through it, making Geralt release a pleased sigh. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”

“Promise?” Geralt asked. The air in his lungs felt light with the thrill of their  _ future _ .

“Absolutely,” Jaskier said. Grabbing at his shoulders, Jaskier made a half-assed attempt at tugging Geralt upwards until the historian pushed himself up so they were face to face. Reaching his head up a few inches, Jaskier placed a slow kiss against Geralt’s lips before lying back down.

“You should get undressed,” Jaskier said. His hands moved to behind his head, propping him up to enjoy the view.

Geralt huffed a laugh. He pulled off of Jaskier to kneel over him, pulling his shirt over his head. “You don’t want to help?” Geralt asked as he tossed the shirt to a corner of the room.

“Nah. I’m sure you can manage. I’m just  _ so _ worn out from your incredible oral skills,” Jaskier said. 

“Well, if you’re so tired maybe I should keep my pants on. Wouldn’t want to overwork you,” Geralt shuffled back to stand up off the bed. Pausing, he took in the picture Jaskier made. His legs were sprawled wide, whole body the epitome of relaxed confidence, taking up the most space possible. He was exquisite. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions here. I am in my youthful prime, still a spry fox more than adept to go multiple rounds even up against a man of your talents. Hit me with your best shot.” One of Jaskier’s hands slipped down his body to trace along his stomach and thighs, teasing himself.

Geralt unzipped his jeans, suddenly very aware of the aching arousal he had been distracted from. Stepping out of them and his underwear, he was left completely naked. Jaskier’s hand moved to his own dick, tracing it with one finger. Geralt’s mouth felt dry and his cock pulsed. Stepping over to the side table, Geralt’s gaze didn’t waver from his partner while fumbling for a condom. Jaskier was so enrapturing, Geralt feared he’d miss something between blinks. 

Moving back up onto the bed, Geralt pushed Jaskier’s hand away from himself gently as he positioned himself over the other man. Looming above Jaskier, Geralt felt a power that for the first time didn’t scare him. Sex for him had always been built on dynamics and decisions, either expectations he couldn’t fulfill or the release of accepting subordination for a time. Even with Yen- who he trusted implicitly- he had never trusted  _ himself _ to hold power over her and not fuck it up.

Kissing up the line of Jaskier’s throat Geralt could feel a racing heartbeat, the thrum of Jaskier’s lifeforce beneath his teeth alight with his touch. Nimble fingers trailed down his side to wrap around Geralt’s cock. The sensation made his muscles weaken sending a tremble through his biceps that held him inches off of Jaskier’s body. Here they were in equilibrium, each overwhelmed by and overwhelming the other. 

The desire to be seated inside of Jaskier clawed at Geralt, encouraging him to stop the hand wrapped around him to line up at Jaskier’s entrance. Opening the wrapper still clutched in one hand, he rolled the condom down his erection. Looking up, he was caught again by the beauty of Jaskier’s flushed chest and eyes glazed with desire. Breathless, Jaskier nodded repeatedly in approval, enthusiasm written across every inch of him.

Geralt entered Jaskier’s body slowly, desperation unable to rush his stronger desire to treat the man below him with pure care and affection. Tight heat surrounded Geralt’s cock and he couldn’t breathe. His eyes slipped shut until Jaskier leaned his head up to place a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m good,” Jaskier whispered, his voice softer than their mutual bated breaths. “You can fuck me. Please.”

Geralt took in the sight of Jaskier at his mercy and obeyed on his terms. Moving only his hips, Geralt slowly rocked in and out of Jaskier. His pace was steady and thrusts gentle to create a smooth flow of pleasure like the push and pull of a calm ocean. Every muscle in Jaskier seemed undecided, torn between tensing with the need for more and relaxing completely into the sensation. It was a test of restraint for a man Geralt knew had very little. 

When Jaskier chose relaxation it surprised both of them. Jaskier's face became wide with wonder as the fight eased from his body. They weren’t fighting anymore, they didn’t need to keep building this thing between them from the bricks they threw at each other. Their bodies seemed to melt together as their rhythm continued.

Minutes and seconds warped as they  _ felt _ together, foreheads aligned with the same air shared between them. Geralt had lost where he ended and Jaskier began. His orgasm crept up not with an exponential climb but a steady pour starting at his toes.

“Are you-?” Geralt started.

Jaskier nodded quickly. His eyes were wet with tears but Geralt figured they were good ones. “Just-”

Somehow able to understand, Geralt reached a hand down to touch Jaskier’s dick. The circles of his fingers mirrored the continued momentum of his thrust, giving the musician without breaking their peaceful climb.

As if it was destiny, the two climaxed at the very same moment, both trembling through drawn out and gentle orgasms. Blinking, a single tear dropped from Geralt’s eye down to Jaskier’s cheek where matching tear treads had trailed. Overcome with a deep warmth through his chest, Geralt leaned down to kiss Jaskier. Their lips traced each other as their speeding hearts slowed.

**********

Through Geralt’s bedroom window the sky was consuming the last shades of pink from the sun with the dark of the night. The street lights flickered on, sending enough light through to highlight the angles of Jaskier’s face on the pillow normally left untouched in Geralt’s bed. They had been lying tangled together for long enough that the sweat on Jaskier’s forehead had dried, leaving his hair messy, but back to its beautiful softness.

Simply because he could, Geralt reached his free hand not wrapped around Jaskier’s waist up to trail his fingers through brown waves. Jaskier nuzzled into the contact, not unlike Roach did when searching for pets. Happy to oblige, Geralt continued to stroke the man in his arms, enjoying the intimate silence between them. It seemed a true mark of affection that Jaskier could enjoy his company without requiring words from either of them. Or perhaps that was an indicator of his skills as a bed partner.

Geralt was content to exist in this moment for as long as time deemed acceptable but was unsurprised when his partner became restless without the sound of his own voice. “So, you want to do this right? Date? Be together?” Jaskier asked aloud the question Geralt had tried to answer in each of his actions that night.

“Yes,” Geralt replied. His mind flashed with the bard’s story like flipping through the pages of the journal it was contained in. “Even if I didn’t know… I still would. I might not have realized yet, but I would want you. Do want you. Us.”

Jaskier bit his lip but failed to contain the wide smile that graced his face. “Good. Me too.”

“That’s a pretty lackluster declaration. Are you losing your songwriter’s touch? Or maybe the romantic soliloquies were reserved for your first life...” Geralt’s previously languid heart rate doubled, afraid he had interpreted things wrong, that Jaskier thought of the journal as merely a wild coincidence. Geralt was the skeptic of the pair but from that single readthrough, something in his heart could never be swayed from the truth no matter the rationalizing he attempted.

The small intake of breath that passed through Jaskier’s lips was barely audible. With one hand he cradled Geralt’s cheek, blue gaze scanning the history professor’s face like he was seeing him for the very first time. He examined him like an ancient artifact intended for display, that Jaskier got the privilege to hold in his bare palms.

“You believe it?” Jaskier said barely above a whisper. Geralt felt an ocean inside of him but the waves were pleasant, as warm as bathwater.

“I-I don’t know. Do you?”

“Yes.” Jaskier was confident, as he was with everything. Confident he could flourish in his career, confident in his sexual prowess, confident in his feelings. That was the gift of this man, he  _ believed _ in things in a world riddled with apathy. A mystery and a bookstore and a wise woman and a story told him they held magic and he believed it not out of naivety but with determination. They had an impossible project and Jaskier had the key on his own bookshelf. He dragged Geralt into his childhood haystack and they stumbled upon the right needle. When Jaskier believed in things, why would the universe disagree?

“Then I do too.” Geralt felt his heart click into place, like it had been slightly off all his life, small enough he never would have even noticed if not for how right he now felt.

Jaskier closed his eyes and lined up their foreheads. Geralt cradled the back of his head with his hand, holding them together. Touch between them felt as inevitable as the attachment of two magnets placed beside each other. Never had physical contact felt so  _ right _ for Geralt.

“I’m sorry I left you alone,” Jaskier said.

“I’m sorry for every time I have hurt you,” Geralt replied. “Is… is it insane to say I think I love you.”

“Darling, I have loved you for a millennia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As I said only a short epilogue left for these boys. The response to this fic has been more than I ever could have hoped for and I really want to emphasize how much every comment and kudos has meant to me <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The epilogue short and sweet set a few months later. It's been a journey and I hope you all enjoy the conclusion <3

Museums are where people go to feel the weight of history wrap around them, an approachable blanket of horrors and delights of humanity packaged into boxes and displayed with convenient cue cards. They had held pure magic to Geralt as a child on rare school trips. He was always the student left behind by the group, ensnared by each exhibition's wonder unlike his rambunctious peers uninvested in any explanations to the stuffed wolves or rusty swords they pointed at. 

Now that he had wandered behind the curtain, the facade of an easily digestible history no longer sparkled before him. Being a part of the process of condensing history, he was too aware of what was cut out and had learned the terrible truths of artifacts passed around between the wealthy hands of thieves. He had pride in his work, aiming to be a positive influence in a flawed system as all factions of society are, but reality had ripped away childhood mysticism.

Strolling into the same exhibition room that had suffocated him just over a year ago, his fingertips sparked with the same magic he had felt in grade school. Maybe it was seeping out of the palm pressed against his. Jaskier had left his own shimmering blanket of history in this history, one that didn’t crush down on Geralt’s shoulders but wrapped him up gently, thin as paper to the touch, yet kept in all the warmth they needed. The ghost of their journey echoed in these walls, rising up from the archive room and mixing with the shouts of their first encounter bouncing off every corner. 

“I still feel weird about letting it be on display. Technically it belongs to me after all,” Jaskier said. They had stopped in the center of the room where their beloved psaltery now sat separated from them by a box of glass. This time, there was no fanfare around its display, no fancy party filled with stuffy company. It was merely a standard rotation of artifacts to keep the exhibit from growing stale to return guests. 

“Would you have preferred to file a claim with the museum, explaining how actually this instrument belonged to you in a past life? Don’t just take our word for it either, we have an ancient diary written by Jaskier’s magic past self that authenticates it.” Geralt teased with the argument they had debated for months now. 

After stumbling into the fantastical truth of their project, it had opened up a whole host of dilemmas for how to proceed. Jaskier, ever the dreamer, had wanted to charge ahead without abandon, filled with ideas about getting the diary carbon dated and authenticated as a historical discovery. Their first fight as a couple had arisen with Geralt stuck and frustrated, unable to articulate his fears through anything but anger in the face of Jaskier steamrolling ahead. Eventually, they both settled down enough for Geralt to voice his concerns of what they could risk losing by revealing the diary. Irony decreed Jaskier would turn around from that conversation determined to reacquire his long lost instrument, starting a new though less heated debate.

“Technically, you were the magical one my dear,” Jaskier replied, hand slipping from Geralt’s to slink around his waist.

“Hm,” Geralt replied, knowing Jaskier could hear the doubt it encompassed. Not for a past with magic or monsters- that he had begrudgingly reconciled as another blip in the illogical nature of the universe- but doubt for the fact in any iteration  _ he _ was the special one. Mostly gone were the days of his deep self-loathing but still, Geralt felt muted compared to the cacophony of light that were Jaskier’s existences. It didn’t bother him. Geralt was happiest shaded by the shadow of greatness, knew his skin must have scalded in the attention of being a witcher. Why else had he sought love with the two most looming personalities he knew?

Yennefer was the only other person they had told about the diary. Geralt had woken up the morning after their first official night together to a text from her instructing him to go to her apartment that night to “remove the delusion he was allowed to keep secrets from her”. Needless to say, he spilled his guts the moment he crossed the entranceway, from their very first sordid encounter, all the way to the befuddling fate encased in ink. It was there on her couch Geralt came to the realization he had found not only his bard but also his sorceress again. 

A carefully guarded feature of Yennefer wrapped up in protective layers of cynicism was her whimsical heart. Despite the cruelties it had dealt her, she still believed in the mysticisms in the world. She laughed at fate or fairness but always held a shred of hope for impossibilities. In fact, she often dealt in them, the currency of sheer determination opening all doors to her. All that is to say, at her core, she was a romantic.

Before Geralt could hesitate over its ludicrousy, the truth of Jaskier’s voice echoing from the past spilled from his lips onto her lap. She was the one person around whom he could never hold his tongue, although Jaskier had been gunning for second place quite vigorously. Rather than laugh at him, a glimmer of wonder gathered in Yennefer’s eyes. 

“I want to read it,” she had said. If Jaskier had protested, Geralt would have considered saying no to her. Thankfully, for both their skins, he hadn’t. 

Now, the three of them were entwined with strings connecting to this other world, ones that when plucked hummed the sounds of love a millennium old. Jaskier and Yennefer may have often found their threads tangled, arguing at every turn but in the end, they’d reestablished their little family in this year together. 

It had been a loud year, but without the resentment he had felt for the noise throughout his past. His months were characterized by the sounds of laughter and moans and music. Could be encapsulated in the repeated picture of sitting in a restaurant or bar or living room, listening to his two favorite people battle over inanities they basically agreed over, but wouldn’t budge on simply for the joy of planting their feet and trying not to be the first to stumble over. Triss would send him a knowing look as they both were quiet, staring at their respective partners with adoration. 

Geralt had never had much faith in romantic love, certainly never believing in soulmates. Most marriages he had witnessed as a kid were maintained through shouting matches and the responsibilities of raising extra children. From then on the only adult he knew who actually seemed content was Vesemir, happy to raise his sons alone without any interest in a relationship. 

Even with Yennefer, there had been a sense of doom to it, a hum in the background that this would explode eventually. The feeling had flickered between them, taunting them into ripping apart the good they had at every turn. 

That ticking clock counting down to their inevitable demise couldn’t be heard over the music of Jaskier’s love. It was hard for him to barricade himself in fear when Jaskier squirmed his way into the cracks in Geralt’s armor with every warm smile and soft praise. The fact that they were destined together through reincarnation magic helped.

Geralt had spent decades making himself strong, molding his body and mind into imposing forces to keep out the weakness he had been mocked for. Jaskier would trace over the hardened lines of his muscles and forehead with a gentleness Geralt could barely stand. Never before had he been held as if fragile, as if he was something precious. In his boyfriend's arms, Geralt could break apart into a million pieces knowing Jaskier would stay to mend him back together again.

Geralt tried to give that back, to mirror even a fraction of the tenderness that Jaskier wrapped him in. He scheduled in time for them to be together even at his busiest when work was the only thing possible in his mind. He started making the musician lunch after discovering Jaskier had a bad habit of forgetting to eat. He tried to listen to some of the bands Jaskier loved, even the loud overly peppy ones. He read aloud to Jaskier on the days when the man complained his eyes just couldn’t focus on the pages. 

It wasn’t always perfect. A relationship forged in fiery passion was bound to have its arguments. Geralt would lash out when stressed, cutting too close to Jaskier’s insecurities. Jaskier would push too far, overwhelming Geralt when he needed his space. None of it seemed to matter much. There was a strength in their connection, leaving no doubts about small missteps becoming their downfall.

In short, Geralt had changed his mind about soulmates.

“Okay, I’m bored now,” Jaskier interrupted Geralt’s reminiscing.

“Jaskier.”

“What? We spent months on end looking at the damned thing, there isn’t much thrill left.”

Geralt’s lips twitched in a smile. “You could always reflect on those memories.”

“Hm,” Jaskier said, picking up Geralt’s habit. He looked back towards the psaltery in its glass cage, overemphasizing an expression of deep thought. His contemplation only lasted a mere minute. “Okay done! Do you wanna sneak down into the archive room and reflect on some  _ more  _ memories?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. His boyfriend was absolutely insatiable. Jaskier attempted to wiggle his eyebrows but lacked the facial dexterity required so it looked more like a muscle spasm.

“I love you,” Geralt said, overcome with ridiculous fondness.

“You know that only increases my horniness,” Jaskier replied, smile reflecting fluorescence around the room.

“I’m counting on it.” Geralt used their linked hands to guide Jaskier out of the room, their special psaltery left behind as a mystery for the masses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't express how much I appreciate the love I have received for this fic. It was my first time ever taking on an endeavor of this size and I hadn't been expecting anything like the praise I have gotten. You all are lovely people and I am honored you took time to read my word <3
> 
> Also..... this might not be goodbye quite yet to this verse. I have fallen in love with this story and have begun working on a sequel of sorts this time from Yennefer's pov. I had so much to her character I didn't get to fit into this so I figured why not give her her own piece. (No estimates on the timeline of this though rip college is starting up again soon plus I have another au idea that's also demanding my attention)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! As I said new chapters should be out within a couple of days I hope :) 
> 
> Leave comments if you like! I will respond to all of them they bring me so much joy 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @queer-and-trashy for mostly Witcher content at least currently


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